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CROSS    TRAILS 


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CROSS    TRAILS 


Books  by 
HERMAN  WHITAKER 

Cross  Trails.     lUuatratod           .     .     .    .    net  $1.20 

The  Mystery  OF  THE  Barranca.     Front,     nei  1.25 

The  Probationer 1.25 

The  Settler.     Illnstrated '    .     .  1.50 

The  Planter.     Illustrated     .     .♦ 1.50 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


[See  page  13 
THE  SIGHT  OF  A  WOMAN,   WHITE  AND   PRETTY  AT  THAT,   TRAVELING   ALONE 
ON   A   WINTER   TRAIL  BROUGHT   ALL  OF   NORWAY'S    OCCUPANTS 
OUT   OF   DOORS 


CROSS  TRAILS 

THE    STORY   OF   ONE    WOMAN 
IN    THE    NORTH    WOODS 


BY 

HERMAN  WHITAKER    ./^  j^yy. 

author  op  /    u**^ 

"the  mystery  op  the  barranca" 
"the  planter"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  y  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 

MCMXIV 


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COPYRIGHT.    1814.    BY   HARPER  a   BROTHERS 

PRINTED  IN   THE   UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 

PUBLISHED    JUNE.     1914 

E-O 


TO   ELSIE.   MY   DEAR   DAUGHTER. 
AND    LITTLE   MICHAELA 


.  f\  <r*  r^  l~\ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Sight  of  a  Woman,  White  and  Pretty  at  that, 

TbAVBUNG  AliONE  ON  A  WiNTER  TrAIL  BROUGHT 

All  op  Norway's  Occupants  Out  of  Doors  .  Fr<mtisp%ece 
Naturally  as  a  Child  Clings  to  Its  Father  She 

Clung  to  Him        Fadng  p.  Si 

She  was  Really  Wonderful,  Sitting  There  by 

A  Lumberman's  Fire,  Locked  by  Deep  Snows 

IN  the  Heart  OF  Continental  Woods  ....  '*  82 
A  Shrewd  Blow,  It  Caught  Him  off  Balance,  and 

After  One  Ineffectual  Stagger  He  Sprawled 

Backward '*       116 

"If  There's  Any  Complaints  It's  to  the  Office 

Ye  May  be  Taking  Thim.  Out,  Out  wid  Ye!"  "  160 
"And  What  if  He  Does  Come?    He  W^on't  Get 

You!" "       182 

"Of  Course  It  isn't  Much.    Only  a  Beginning, 

but  then — I  Did  It  Myself" "       226 

Held  Rigid  by  Her  Awful  Fear,  She  Could  Only 

Stand,  Gazing  in  Horror  at  the  Half-dozen 

Men  Who  Followed  the  Door  into  the  Room      "       244 


CROSS   TRAILS 


CHAPTER  I 

WITH  her  pen  poised  hesitantly  above  the 
account-book  that  served  this  roughest  of 
frontier  hotels  for  a  register,  the  young  woman 
stood  for  a  few  seconds  before  she  wrote  down  her 
name.  Apparently  she  was  debating  the  form  of 
the  prefix,  for  when  the  pen  finally  dipped  to  the 
paper  it  began  on  a  capital  **M".  But  there  it 
stopped.  When,  after  a  second  hesitancy,  she 
was  forced  to  some  conclusion  by  her  uneasy  con- 
sciousness of  the  landlord's  scrutiny,  and  the 
open  admiration  of  a  mixed  crowd  of  settlers  and 
half-breeds  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  the 
name  stood : 

*'Gabrielle  Ferrier,  Montreal." 

Left  thus  without  a  hint  of  his  guest's  condi- 
tion, Joe  Lacrosse  exercised  the  gallantry  which 
goes  with  even  the  thinnest  strain  of  French 
blood.  While  ushering  her  to  a  bedroom — a 
corner  of  a  long  attic,  partitioned  off  with  cotton 
sheets  from  the  general  sleeping-quarters  of  the 


/•.:;.::•:  •.€:ROSS. TRAILS 

•  •...•  J ,-';  -,;  • .  r     I  .".      : 

male   boarders — he   ventured   to   give   her   the 

virgin  title. 

"It  ees  all  right,  mees,"  he  combated  her  mis- 
giving concerning  the  "bedroom."  "Julie — she 
ees  my  wife — sleeps  in  the  next  bed.  Oui,  it  ees 
all  right,  for  Julie  she  ees  ver'  strong  on  the 
propaire." 

The  horror  that  distended  the  girl's  gray  eyes 
under  their  black  lashes — they  were  big  enough 
without  it — was  here  qualified  by  a  touch  of 
amusement,  for  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Julie,  a  large,  slouchy,  almost  full-blooded  squaw, 
through  the  open  door  of  the  kitchen.  But 
enough  remained  to  make  her  jump  at  a  chance 
of  escape.  Joe,  however,  shook  his  black  shock 
head  when  she  inquired  if  the  mail-sled  from 
Lake  Winnipegosis  would  be  in  to-day. 

"The  Winnipegoos  mail?  Oui,  it  comes  here 
— but  in  the  wintaire  not  so  mooch."  He  could 
easily  have  put  it  stronger  than  that,  but  with 
the  instinct  of  a  born  innkeeper  he  left  the  break- 
ing of  unwelcome  news  to  others.  "You  can 
find  out  at  the  post-office,  mees.  It  ees  in  the 
Hudson  Bay  store,  one  block  up  the  street." 

They  had  ascended  by  means  of  a  wide- 
runged  ladder  that  was  nailed  on  one  side  to  the 
logs  of  the  wall,  and  which  brought  up  midway 
of  the  long  room  that  served  the  hotel  for  parlor, 
dining-room,  and  office.  Descending,  she  came 
again  under  the  fire  of  the  loungers*  eyes.  In 
this,  the  first  year  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway 

2 


CROSS    TRAILS 

had  crossed  the  Manitoba  plains,  white  women 
were  still  rarely  seen  in  Portage  la  Prairie.  In 
summer  the  passage  of  a  settler's  wife  along  its 
one  street  invariably  produced  a  wake  of  follow- 
ing glances,  and  Gabrielle  Ferrier  was  by  no 
means  one  of  that  angular,  labor-worn  type. 

The  feet  that  felt  cautiously  for  the  rungs  of  the 
ladder  were  small  and  delicately  shod.  Above 
them  slender  ankles  and  limbs  rounded  into  a 
well-molded  figure  and  fine,  flat  shoulders.  At 
twenty-three,  with  a  height  of  five  feet  seven, 
her  weight  gravitated  about  one  hundred  and 
thirty-seven — rather  to  her  alarm.  The  annoy- 
ance which  a  few  extra  ounces  caused  her  was, 
however,  quite  unnecessary.  One  glance  at  the 
nervous  nostril,  trembling  sensitiveness  of  her 
mouth,  told  that  the  bugbear  of  fat  need  never 
affright  her.  Without  the  creamy  smoothness 
of  her  skin,  plentiful  dark  hair,  she  would  have 
been  pretty,  for  the  big  gray  eyes  under  black 
lashes  would  have  satisfied  many  a  woman. 
With  them — well.  Red  Dominique,  the  freighter; 
Roberts,  the  "remittance  man";  McGregor,  the 
Scotch-Canadian  trader,  and  the  half-dozen  set- 
tlers that  completed  the  tale  of  Joe's  guests  were 
not  to  be  blamed  for  their  glances. 

They  were  not  offensive.  Did  a  glance  cross 
hers,  it  instantly  dropped.  Yet,  though  they 
were  merely  the  product  of  the  healthy  curiosity 
natural  in  men  long  deprived  of  feminine  com- 
panionship,  expressing    awe    and    respect  that 

8 


CROSS    TRAILS 

would  have  excited  the  laughter  of  a  blase  city 
man,  they  made  her  supremely  uncomfortable. 
Descending,  she  required  both  hands  to  steady 
her  against  the  wall.  But  the  instant  she 
reached  the  bottom  she  instinctively  loosened 
and  held  out  her  fur  cloak  with  her  elbows  so 
that  it  hid  all  but  her  shoe-tips  while  she  crossed 
the  room. 

Stepping  out  into  the  street,  she  vented  her 
relief  in  a  sigh  that  was  quite  premature,  for  in 
the  looks  of  the  three  lumberjacks  who  had 
just  stepped  on  the  porch  was  no  hint  of  the 
consideration  displayed  inside.  Huge  hulks  of 
men,  their  natural  roughness  was  accentuated  by 
their  dress,  the  moose-skin  coats,  moccasins, 
thick  arctic  socks  pulled  on  over  heavy  blue 
overalls,  which  added  to  their  bulk  and  gave  them 
the  uncouth  look  and  rolling  gait  of  so  many 
bears.  While  the  faces  of  two  displayed  merely 
the  coarse  animalism  of  the  type,  in  the  third 
this  was  adulterated  by  an  expression  of  vicious 
cunning  and  fired  by  a  certain  ferocity  that 
glowed  in  his  curiously  red,  lidless  eyes.  In  pass- 
ing they  stared  in  her  face,  then  turned  and 
looked  after.  Replying  to  the  third  man's  com- 
ment, the  other  two  burst  out  with  hoarse 
guffaws  that  caused  her  to  tingle  with  anger  and 
shame. 

"Brutes!"  It  issued  with  none  the  less  of 
force  because  uttered  beneath  her  breath.  Hur- 
rying on,  she  added  that  which  hinted  at  pre- 


CROSS    TRAILS 

vious  unpleasant  experiences:  "But  then — they 
are  men!" 

The  vigorous  utterance  also  indicated  reserves 
of  strength  beneath  her  soft  exterior,  the  will  and 
purpose  that  presently  caused  the  postmaster, 
a  gray  old  factor  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company, 
to  raise  his  shaggy  brows.  "The  mail,  miss" — 
he  was  guided  by  the  cool  innocence  of  her  gray 
eyes — "is  not  due  for  another  week." 

"A  week?"     She  almost  screamed  it. 

"Yes,  miss."  He  nodded.  "Ye'll  see  it  only 
comes  down  every  two  weeks,  and  'twas  here 
last  Tuesday.  But  if  you'll  be  the  young  leddy 
that  was  expected  by  Mr.  Byron,  he  left  word 
for  you  to  be  made  comfortable  in  the  hotel  at 
his  chairges." 

Alone?  For  a  week?  With  all  those  rough 
men?  The  unspeakable  sleeping-arrangements, 
with  the  proprieties  guarded  and  conserved  by 
Julie  and  Joe  in  the  next  bed?  Coming  on  top 
of  her  anger,  disappointment  deprived  her  tem- 
porarily of  speech.  Walking  to  the  window  at 
the  end  of  the  rough  counter,  she  peered  through 
the  one  pane  that  had  been  cleared  of  frost  and 
ice. 

There  was  little  of  cheer  in  the  prospect. 
Where,  two  years  ago,  a  Hudson  Bay  post  had 
raised  its  blockhouses  and  stockades  from  infinite 
wastes  of  snow,  a  shack  town  now  rambled  over 
the  nea^rer  view,  wiping  out  the  last  jot  of  the 
romantic    or    picturesque.     The    stations    and 

5 


CROSS    TRAILS 

rude  laughter  of  the  lumberjacks  she  quickly 
added,  "But  I  can  not,  will  not  stay  here." 

On  the  heels  of  this  resolution  came  the 
exhibition  of  purpose  and  determination  that 
caused  the  Scotch  factor's  spectacles  to  fall  from 
his  nose. 

"Can  ye  hire  a  horse  and  rig?"  he  repeated 
after  her.  "Ye'll  be  needin'  a  man  to  drive  ye, 
then." 

She  did  not.  To  escape  man,  the  miserable 
starer,  was  the  very  crux  of  her  purpose,  and 
she  voiced  her  feeling  with  no  uncertain  sound. 
"No;  I  shall  drive  myself." 

"But  my  dear  young  leddy" — his  shaggy 
brows  flew  up,  dislodging  the  specs  that  were 
stuck  over  his  brow — "my  dear  young  leddy,  to 
Winnipegoos  is  full  ninety  miles!" 

"I'm  used  to  horses,  and  have  drivenifarther." 
She  answered  quite  curtly.  "  There  are  stopping- 
houses,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  there's  Norway's,  twenty-five  mile  out, 
where  ye'll  be  comfortable,  for  if  Norwayis  three 
daughters  have  a  big  lick  of'  Cree  blood  ye'll 
travel  far  to  find  nicer  spoken  girls.  From  there 
it's  a  long  skip*  of  forty  miles  to  McDonald's. 
But  the  tote  teamsters  to  the  lumber-camp  have 
built  two  cabins  in  between,  so  if  ye  did  run  into  a 
storm  there'd  be  no  lack  of  fire  or  grub.  The 
next  day,  of  course,  ye'll  jump  into  Winnipegoos. 
An'  the  trail's  good — beaten  hard  as  a  pike-road 
for  fifty  miles  by  the  tote  teams.     Nevertheless, 


CROSS    TRAILS 

on  the  chance  of  a  blizzard,  I'd  be  advising  ye 
to  tak'  a  man." 

"Now  about  a  rig?"  She  totally  ignored  the 
suggestion. 

If  she  were  not  to  be  dissuaded  there  was 
nothing  in  his  canny  philosophy  to  prevent  him 
from  coining  her  obstinacy  into  pence.  "Ye'U 
find  no  fancy  cutters  here.  But  if  an  Indian 
jumper  and  a  shaganappy,  the  toughest  beast  on 
earth,  will  suit  ye,  they're  mine  to  hire.  Mr. 
Byron  can  send  them  down  again  with  the  mail." 

"  Very  well."  In  her  eagerness  to  get  away  she 
snapped  him  up.  "Have  it  hitched  at  once, 
and" — a  vivid  and  distasteful  memory  of  the 
gauntlet  she  had  run  was  responsible  for  the  addi- 
tion— "send  some  one  to  the  hotel  for  my  suit- 
cases.    My  trunk  can  wait  for  the  mail." 

When  it  appeared  at  the  store  door  half  an 
hour  later  the  outfit  did  not  "look"  the  twenty 
dollars  demanded  for  its  hire,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  could  have  been  purchased  outright  for 
little  more.  But  if  the  sled  was  merely  a  light 
"bob"  built  of  raw  birch  and  bound  together 
with  horsehide  thongs  in  lieu  of  nails,  it  was  still 
fitter  for  a  long,  cold  trail  than  a  heavy  Eastern 
"cutter."  At  a  hundred  yards  the  pony's  china 
eyes  proclaimed  its  Indian  parentage,  but  of 
horses  Gabrielle  knew  enough  to  divine  the  stay- 
ing qualities  that  were  boun^^^up  in  its  ragged 
buckskin  hide.  ^ 

In  her  eagerness  to  remove  herself  beyond  the 


<# 
-^J**^ 


CHAPTER  II 

OUT  on  the  trail  Gabrielle  was  getting  along 
very  nicely — in  miles,  at  least. 
At  first  sight  and  until  usage  dulls  the  impres- 
sion, a  winter  prairie  is  apt  to  oppress  the  lonely 
traveler,  driving  in  a  sense  of  his  own  littleness 
by  contrast  with  its  solitary  immensity.  But 
if  the  girl  felt  herself  shrinking  to  microscopic 
dimensions,  saw  herself  crawling  like  an  insect 
on  the  face  of  the  great  whiteness,  she  could 
always  look  back  on  the  town,  which  rose  like  a 
black  reef  from  the  sea  of  snow.  While  reminl- 
ing  her  of  the  human  companionship  from  wliich 
she  was  doing  her  best  to  flee,  it  nevertheless 
diminished  the  feeling  of  isolation,  thus  acting 
as  a  double  spur.  After  every  backward  glim^)se 
she  would  lay  on  the  whip,  and,  developing  unsus- 
pected speed,  the  pony  carried  her  in  the  course 
of  a  couple  of  hours  into  woodland  country  where 
poplar  copse  limited  and  diversified  the  frozen 
prospect.  Almost  before  she  knew  it — but  not 
a  whit  too  soon,  for  the  short  northern  day  was 
already  drawing  to  a  close — she  raised  Norway's 
road-house,  a  comfortable  "Red  River  frame" 

12 


CROSS    TRAILS 

of  logs,  that  sat  with  its  stables  in  the  embrace 
of  a  poplar  bluff. 

The  sight  of  a  woman,  white  and  pretty  at 
that,  traveling  alone  on  a  winter  trail  brought 
all  of  Norway's  occupants  out  of  doors,  and  at  her 
first  glimpse  of  the  three  dark,  gentle-eyed  girls 
Gabrielle  was  ready  to  subscribe  to  the  Scotch 
factor's  praises.  Uttering  soft  exclamations  of 
wonder  at  her  hardihood,  they  extracted  her 
from  the  wrappings  in  which  she  now  sat  like  a 
frozen  chrysalis;  then,  dark  having  closed  in 
while  she  was  being  warmed  and  fed,  they 
carried  her  off  to  the  one  real  bedroom  in  a 
circle  of  a  hundred  miles.  Despite  this  proud 
distinction,  it  had  little  in  common  with  her  own 
luxurious  chamber  at  home.  The  steads  of  its 
two  beds  were  made  of  poplar  poles.  The 
furnishings  were  merely  boxes  draped  with 
chintz.  Yet  the  sheets,  blankets,  cotton  cur- 
tains were  all  as  white  as  the  lime-washed  log 
walls,  and  Gabrielle,  who  was  usually  quite 
"finicky"  about  her  sleeping  -  arrangements, 
readily  accepted  a  timid  invitation  from  Lois, 
the  youngest  girl,  to  bed  with  her. 

If,  moreover,  her  resentful  attitude  toward  the 
men  of  the  town  might  have  seemed  hypersen- 
sitively  unreasonable  to  an  impartial  observer, 
no  fault  could  have  been  found  with  her  present 
behavior.  In  five  minutes  she  was  head  over 
heels  in  one  of  those  bedroom  conversations  that 
are  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  eternally  femi- 

13 


CROSS    TRAILS 

nine.  Puffing  his  pipe  in  one  corner  of  the  big 
mud  hearth  down-stairs,  Norway,  a  grizzled  old 
half-breed,  wondered  at  the  steady  buzz  that  was 
punctuated  on  occasion  with  bursts  of  soft  laughter. 

The  cause,  a  filmy  nightdress  that  was  little 
more  than  a  frothy  sea  of  lace  bounded  by  shores 
of  baby  ribbon,  was  not,  however,  for  him. 
When  Gabrielle  produced  it  from  her  suit-case 
three  pairs  of  dark  eyes  distended  with  admira- 
tion that  lacked  a  particle  of  envy,  and  not  until 
they  had  admired  both  it  and  the  superior  white- 
ness of  the  shoulders  it  failed  to  hide  did  Marie, 
the  eldest,  register  an  objection. 

"It  ees  beautiful,  oh  yes,  but  not  to  be  worn  in 
the  wintaire.     You  would  freeze." 

In  its  place  she  offered  a  woolen  garment  that 
felt,  to  Gabrielle,  like  a  blanket,  but  after  the 
fire  died  below  and  the  water-pails  began  to 
freeze  inside  the  house  she  not  only  appreciated 
its  warmth,  but  also  snuggled  closer  to  and 
thanked  her  lucky  stars  for  the  gift  of  her  pretty 
sleeping  partner.  Despite  the  fifty  or  sixty 
degrees  of  frost  that  spread  her  breath  in  a  white 
hoar  over  her  hair  and  the  blankets  she  slept 
warmly,  breakfasted  next  morning  with  keen 
appetite  on  hot  bannock,  tea,  and  bacon;  took 
the  trail  immediately  thereafter,  quite  happy  for 
the  feminine  association,  warmth  of  heart  and 
body,  with  a  good  prospect  of  remaining  so  by 
reason  of  the  hot  stones  the  girls  had  prepared 
for  her  feet  and  hands. 

14 


CROSS   TRAILS 

Morning  had  broken  fair  and  frosty  and  not  so 
very  cold  for  those  regions,  with  the  spirit  at 
thirty-six  below.  When  the  sun  sHpped  out  of 
his  cold,  white  blankets,  a  golden  frost  veil  had 
hung  in  mid-air,  and  a  pair  of  "sun  dogs"  gave 
warning  of  hard  weather  to  come. 

"It  ees  too  mooch  to  tell,"  Norway  said, 
tucking  her  in.  "The  storm  he  may  bre'k 
like  ol'  hell  to-day  or  hoi'  off  for  a  week.  I 
t'ink  you  mek'  Winnipegoos  all  right.  If  it 
comes  queek,  then  ees  there  one  freighter's  cabin 
twenty  miles  out  where  you  will  find  fire  an' 
grub.  Ten  miles  farther  the  tote  trail  swings 
off  nor'east,  an'  after  that  the  Winnipegoos  trail, 
he  ees  no  dam'  good." 

To  Gabrielle,  rattling  along  the  hard  trail  that 
presently  laid  ten  miles  of  silver  ribbon  along 
the  dead  flatness  of  Lake  Manitoba,  foreboding 
seemed  absurd.  Exhilaration  induced  by  the 
rapid  motion  plus  bright  sunlight  and  sharp,  clear 
air,  put  her  in  happier  mood.  Also  Romance,  the 
chameleon,  who  had  peeped  at.  the  half-breed 
girls  through  the  insertion  and  lace  of  that 
wonderful  nightdress,  now  looked  at  her  out  of 
their  gentle  eyes.  Spinning  along  she  wove  small 
romances  into  the  warp  of  their  simple  lives,  and 
when  she  tired  of  that  she  still  had  Nell  and 
Byron,  the  picturesque  life  of  the  forts,  to  fill 
her  mind.  Absorbed  in  which  preoccupations,  she 
never  noticed  a  stealthy  hissing  which  grew  and 
strengthened  till  it  silenced  the  groan  of  her  sled. 

15 


CROSS    TRAILS 

It  was  the  drift,  imperceptible  in  its  beginnings, 
invisible  to  an  untrained  eye.  She  did  notice 
that  it  was  growing  colder,  for  cold  in  the 
northland  is  a  question  of  wind,  and  the  slight 
breeze  drove  the  frost  in  through  her  furs. 
Wrapped  in  her  thoughts,  however,  she  barely- 
noticed  when  the  sun  went  out,  gave  no  signifi- 
cance to  the  low  groans  and  creakings  of  the 
poplar  into  which  the  trail  had  plunged  after 
leaving  the  lake. 

Shortly  thereafter  she  came  swinging  around  a 
bluff  upon  the  freighter's  hut.  Merely  a  log 
shack  with  a  lean-to  stable  behind,  it  raised  only 
half  of  its  walls  from  the  heart  of  a  drift,  the  mud 
chimney  was  smokeless  and  the  doorway  blocked 
with  snow.  But  had  it  appeared  less  inhospitable, 
a  vivid  recollection  of  the  Portage  lumberjacks 
was  more  than  sufiBcient  to  drive  her  on.  Laying 
the  whip  on  the  pony,  which  would  fain  have 
stopped,  she  fed  it  the  oats  Norway  had  tucked 
in  the  back  of  the  sled  in  the  shelter  of  a  copse 
a  mile  farther  on. 

That  was  the  last  shelter,  for,  beyond,  the  trail 
ran  in  open  country  where  the  rising  wind  had 
things  all  its  own  way.  Strengthening  as  she 
proceeded,  it  picked  up  the  snows  of  the  last 
storm  and  hurtled  them  southward  in  a  solid 
sheet.  Over  the  icy  surface  of  the  "tote  trail," 
which  rode  level  with  the  snows,  the  drift  slid 
harmlessly  or  banked  only  at  sharp  turns.  But 
at  the  forks  where  the  poorly  beaten  Winni- 

16 


CROSS    TRAILS 

pegosis  trail  branched  off,  the  latter  was  buried 
out  of  sight.  When,  already  very  cold  and  just 
a  trifle  frightened,  she  passed  about  midafter- 
noon,  there  was  nothing  to  choose  between  it  and 
any  other  quirk  of  the  trail.  She  was  completely 
unconscious  of  its  very  existence. 

Later  it  began  to  snow;  and  the  wind  roared 
in  shrieking  crescendos,  piling  one  on  the  other 
to  the  full  pitch  of  a  "blizzard."  Snatching  ten- 
foot  drifts  from  under  the  lee  of  the  copse,  from 
the  prairies  a  foot  of  snow,  it  whirled  and  wheeled, 
beat  and  churned  the  mass  till  the  air  was  thick 
as  cheese.  By  this  time  Gabrielle  was  genuinely 
frightened ;  but,  sustained  by  the  thought  that  she 
must  be  nearing  McDonald's,  she  held  on  till  the 
short  day  faded  and  inky  blackness  shrouded  the 
whirling  chaos. 

The  blizzard's  giant  monotone  drowned  all 
sound,  and  at  last,  from  sheer  lack  of  contrast,  it 
registered  itself  merely  a  vibration  in  her  ears. 
But  for  the  jerking  of  the  lines  under  the  pony's 
distressful  snorts  she  would  have  fallen  into 
utter  despair.  That,  however,  comforted  her 
with  a  sense  of  brute  companionship.  Though 
it  was  headed  directly  into  the  storm,  the  plucky 
little  beast  held  the  trail  with  all  of  the  pertinac- 
ity of  its  stubborn  race,  and  had  there  been  any 
port  ahead  it  would  have  fetched  it  with  instinct 
just  as  sure.  Being  none,  its  obstinate  courage 
worked  harm,  for  all  the  time  Gabrielle  was 
growing  colder.     Long  ago   she  had   absorbed 

17 


CROSS    TRAILS 

the  last  of  the  heat  from  the  stones,  and  now, 
turning  traitor,  they  helped  to  chill  her  feet.  Her 
hands  were  so  numbed  that  she  could  not  feel 
them,  and  she  drove  with  the  reins  twisted  around 
her  wrists. 

"Surely  the  stopping-house  cannot  be  much 
farther." 

Again  and  again,  with  all  of  the  agony  of  a 
prayer,  it  fell  from  her  stiffening  lips,  and  always 
the  words  were  snatched  away  and  lost  in  the 
wild  blacl^  whorl  of  the  storm,  so  she  was  denied 
the  dubious  comfort  of  hearing  her  own  voice. 
Blind  and  deaf,  nearly  as  cold  as  the  dead,  she 
was  drawn  through  a  dark  void  to  the  final 
catastrophe  which  came  when,  whirling  at  last 
from  the  cutting  edge  of  the  wind,  the  pony  upset 
the  "jumper"  and  sent  her  headlong  into  deep 
snow. 

Half  frozen  and  completely  numbed,  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  still  asserted  itself,  and 
she  struggled  up — but  so  slowly  that  the  pony 
had  gained  a  hundred  yards  on  the  back  trail 
before  she  stood  erect.  Blindly  she  tried  to 
follow.  But  her  numbed  limbs  refused  to  obey 
her  will.  Stumbling,  she  fell  across  the  trail  and 
lay,  conscious  yet,  but,  oh,  so  tired  and  sleepy! 
For  a  few  minutes  vague  dreams  of  places  and 
people  flitted  through  consciousness,  then  she 
passed  completely  under  the  merciful  anesthesia 
which  precedes  death  by  frost. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  BOUT  two  hours  after  Gabrielle's  departure 
jtA.  Norway  stepped  outdoors  and  took  a  look 
at  the  weather.  At  each  end  of  the  house  a  stove- 
pipe was  ejecting  smoke  in  white  gasf>s  with  a 
sound  similar  to  the  exhaust  of  a  locomotive. 
Always  a  sign  of  intense  cold,  it  combined  with 
the  low,  stern  hiss  of  the  drift  to  produce  the 
anxiety  that  suddenly  filled  every  wrinkle  in  the 
old  fellow's  face. 

"I  no  lak'  hees  looks."  He  wagged  his  head 
dubiously  at  Lois,  who  had  followed  to  the  door- 
way. "I  was  the  great  fool  to  let  her  go. 
Already  comes  the  dreeft,  an'  soon  it  will  be 
blowing  ol'  hell.  Oui,  I  was  one  dam'  fool. 
Before  she  comes  to  the  forks  the  Winnipegoos 
trail  will  be  buried  under." 

"Then  will  she  be  lost."  His  anxiety  set  a 
reflection  of  fear  in  her  soft  eyes.  "You  must 
heetch,  pdre,  an'  go  after  her." 

"  Heetch?"  He  threw  up  hands  and  shoulders. 
"Heetch  what — the  cat  or  the  dog?  Your 
brother,  Pierre,  took  the  shaganappy  yesterday 
to  mek'  the  round  of  hees  traps.  The  buckskin? 
A  curse  on  his  unlucky  soul!     He  ees  gone  lame 

19 


CROSS    TRAILS 

all  week.  There  remains  only  my  feet.  Forty 
years  ago  I  could  have  caught  her — oui,  even 
with  this  long  start — but  not  now." 

*'0h,  what  can  we  do.f*" 

"Nothing" — he  crossed  himself — "but  trust 
the  good  God  to  stop  her  at  the  first  freighter's 
hut." 

"An*  surely  He  will,  pere.  She  is  so  beautiful, 
the  good  God  would  never  destroy  such  a  pretty 
thing." 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  wonderful  night- 
dress was  included  in  the  picture  of  beauty  that 
filled  her  mind's  eye.  Yet  was  she  none  the  less 
sincere.  Her  hands,  clutched  to  her  breast, 
powerfully  expressed  her  concern  and  fear. 
The  thought  that  clouded  her  dark  face  told  that 
she  was  struggling  to  find  some  means  of  rescue. 
After  a  few  seconds  she  broke  out  in  a  little 
scream: 

"Oh,  the  freighters,  pere!  Red  Dominique 
comes  to-day.  I  hear  bells.  But  not  hees. 
Oui,  'tis  the  double  string  on  the  Boss's  ponies." 

When,  a  minute  later,  his  duller  ear  picked  out 
the  jangle  Norway  divined  the  fact.  "By  Gar! 
They  came  out  to  the  first  cabin  las'  night." 

In  the  roomy  "jumper"  which  slid  out,  still 
a  minute  later,  from  behind  a  bluff  a  second  man 
sat  with  the  Boss.  Leaving  the  other  two  to 
come  on  with  Dominique,  he  had  brought  along 
the  fellow  whose  comment  had  caused  Gabrielle 
such  anger  and  confusion,  and  as,  reining  in,  he 

20 


CROSS    TRAILS 

sat  listening  to  Norway,  there  came  into  view 
striking  differences  between  the  two.  While 
both  faces  were  raw-tanned  by  wind  and  frost, 
the  lumberjack's  was  also  blotched  with  the 
purple  flush  of  dissipation.  Between  the  open 
hazel  eye  and  thoughtful  brow  of  the  one  and  the 
small,  choleric  eyes,  beaked  nose,  general  air  of 
low  cunning  that  stamped  the  other,  there  was  a 
vivid  contrast  which  even  Lois  felt  without  quite 
knowing  why.  While  retreating  from  the  fel- 
low's rude  stare  she  even  put  her  impression  into 
words : 

"I  no  lak'  heem,  that  man." 

A  certain  nervousness  that  had  showed  both 
in  the  Boss's  greeting  and  manner  gave  place  to 
anxious  gravity.  "That's  bad,"  he  commented 
upon  Norway's  report,  "for  we're  sure  in  for  a 
bhzzard.  If  she  takes  the  Winnipegoos  trail  at 
the  forks  she'll  never  make  McDonald's,  and  if 
she  doesn't — " 

Taking  their  cue  from  the  tightening  reins,  the 
ponies  sprang  from  a  standstill  into  a  gallop. 
But  his  voice  came  drifting  back:  "Tell  the  girls 
not  to  be  afraid.     I'll  catch  her  before  dark." 

His  ponies,  half  blood  and  half  shaganappy, 
the  toughest  cross  that  was  ever  sired  by  the 
devil,  undoubtedly  did  their  share  toward  making 
good  his  promise  in  the  next  few  hours.  About 
the  time  Gabrielle  stopped  to  feed  her  beast  at 
one  end  of  the  lake  they  plunged  out  upon  it  at 
the  other,  and,  though  the  drift  now  spread  like 


CROSS    TRAILS 

sand  over  the  trail,  deadening  the  sledding,  they 
covered  the  ten-mile  stretch  at  speed  that  cut 
her  lead  in  two. 

As  they  shot  past  the  "Forks"  the  Boss  saw 
there  was  no  break  in  the  drifts  of  the  Winnipe- 
gosis  trail ;  in  the  shelter  of  a  copse  farther  on  he 
came  upon  Gabrielle's  sled-tracks.  "If  she  only 
stops  at  the  cabin!"  he  told  himself.  But  when 
at  dusk  it  suddenly  loomed  up  dark  and  solitary, 
the  hope  died.  Settling  back  in  his  seat,  he  did 
that  which  he  had  not  done  before,  gave  the 
ponies  their  heads,  laid  on  the  whip,  nor  tightened 
a  line  upon  them  until,  after  two  hours'  run 
through  the  black  storm,  they  stopped  with 
suddenness  that  almost  sent  him  out  over  the 
dashboard. 

It  was,  of  course,  impossible  to  see  or  hear, 
but,  shoving  the  reins  into  his  companion's  hands, 
he  sprang  out  and,  leaning  almost  at  an  acute 
angle,  forced  his  way  against  the  enormous  pres- 
sure of  the  wind  to  the  ponies'  heads — to  find 
them  rubbing  noses  with  Gabrielle's  beast. 
Leading  the  animal  out  into  the  snow,  he  worked 
his  own  ponies  past,  then  walked  on  ahead, 
hopeless,  dreading  the  worst. 

Almost  as  though  he  had  been  present,  his 
experience  gave  him  the  facts  of  the  case.  He 
saw  in  his  mind  the  pony  turn  from  the  wind,  the 
jumper  upset  as  one  runner  dropped  off  the  high 
trail,  the  girl  thrown  out  and  left  by  the  runaway 
beast.     "If  she  wanders  a  foot  from  the  trail 

22 


CROSS    TRAILS 

she's  gone!"  He  cried  it  aloud  in  sudden  panic, 
and  as  the  wind  snatched  the  words  away  he 
tripped  and  fell  over  her. 

"  Can  you  drive?"  He  yelled  it  in  the  lumber- 
jack's ear  after  he  had  climbed  with  the  girl 
into  the  sled. 

"Me?  Drive?  I've  driven  in  the  Californy 
Sierras,  where  they  shoot  six-horse  teams  clean 
down  one  side  of  hell  and  up  t'other." 

The  blizzard  grabbed  half  of  the  answer,  but 
the  Boss  gathered  the  sense.  "Then  swing  'em 
round!  They'll  bolt  as  soon  as  they  feel  a 
strange  hand,  but  let  them  run.  They'll  stop  at 
the  shack  of  their  own  accord." 

And  once  again  the  mettled  little  beasts  justi- 
fied his  boast.  Guided  by  instincts  unerring  as 
the  law  of  gravitation,  they  flew  through  the 
black  whorl  of  the  storm,  nor  paused  till  their 
noses  brought  up  against  the  door  of  the  lean-to 
stable.  Only  the  fact  that  it  was  closed  pre- 
vented them,  indeed,  from  wedging  themselves 
in  the  doorway.  Here  a  poplar  bluff  broke  the 
force  of  the  wind,  and  the  Boss's  sharp  orders 
rose  above  the  howl  of  the  storm. 

"Leave  them.  They'll  stand!  There's  matches 
and  lanterns  on  a  shelf  by  the  door.  Light  all  of 
them." 

Stepping  in,  he  set  down  his  unconscious  bur- 
den on  a  rough  pole  bunk,  and  the  first  glimmer 
of  light  revealed  the  lumberjack's  curious  look. 
"Is  she  frozen?" 

23 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"Can't  say — yet,"  he  answered,  curtly  enough, 
and  his  voice  took  a  sharper  note  when,  after 
lighting  all  three  lanterns,  the  man  made  to  come 
toward  him.  "I  don't  need  you.  Get  that  can 
of  kerosene  from  under  the  bunk  and  fill  up  a 
watering-pail.  After  that  go  out  and  stable  the 
ponies." 

He  had  already  snatched  the  bedding  off  a 
second  bunk,  and  the  man's  last  curious  look  at 
the  girl  as  he  went  out  was  cut  short  by  the 
blankets  which  the  Boss  hung  up  on  sharp  slivers 
in  the  edges  of  the  split  roof -poles. 

"Know  a  good  thing,  don't  you?"  he  grumbled, 
outside.  "Me  for  the  horses,  and  you  for  the 
girl.'; 

Within  the  improvised  bedroom  the  Boss  went 
swiftly  to  work.  It  was  no  time  to  stickle  for 
conventions.  With  celerity  almost  feminine  he 
unloosed  the  girl's  corsage;  then,  after  feeling 
the  faint  beat  of  her  heart,  he  rewrapped  her  furs 
about  her.  Opening  her  mouth  with  strong 
fingers,  he  next  poured  a  little  whisky  in  from  a 
pocket-flask.  A  few  seconds  passed  before  she 
swallowed,  and  all  that  time  he  gazed  anxiously 
into  her  face.  Then,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  fell 
to  work  on  her  face  and  hands. 

Rising  above  her  cap,  the  collar  of  the  factor's 
big  coat  had  saved  her  ears,  and,  falling  for- 
ward with  her  face  buried  in  the  thick  fur  of 
the  sleeves,  it  also  had  escaped  with  minor  frost- 
bites.    A  light  rubbing  with  kerosene  removed 

24 


CROSS    TRAILS 

in  a  few  moments  the  deathlike  whiteness  of  three 
small  patches.  Her  feet  and  hands  presented  an 
appearance  much  more  serious.  He  frowned 
while  removing  the  cloth  overshoes  that  were 
buckled  over  the  ordinary  walking-shoes,  for, 
worse  than  useless,  they  impeded  the  circulation 
they  were  designed  to  aid.  He  was  quite  pre- 
pared for  the  corpse-like  whiteness  of  her  feet  and 
ankles.  Under  the  gold  of  the  lantern  they 
showed  like  sculptured  marble. 

"Thank  God  for  the  kerosene!" 

His  utterance  was  the  more  fervent  because 
he  knew  that  the  can  had  only  been  brought  in  on 
Red  Dominique's  last  trip.  Had  there  been  time 
to  thaw  out  snow-water  it  would  have  frozen  the 
instant  it  touched  her  hands  and  feet.  But 
freezing,  as  kerosene  does,  at  a  temperature  far 
below  the  severest  cold  of  the  arctics,  it  would 
gradually  but  surely  draw  out  the  frost.  After 
arranging  her  body  so  that  her  feet  drooped  over 
the  edge  of  the  bunk  into  the  bucket  he  filled 
two  small  cooking-pots  and  placed  a  hand  in 
each. 

This  done,  he  gave  her  more  whisky,  which,  to 
his  immense  satisfaction,  she  swallowed  at  once. 
"Good!"  Muttering  it,  he  fell  on  his  knees  and 
fell  to  rubbing  her  feet  with  vigor  that  threatened 
to  break  the  smooth,  white  skin.  First  one,  then 
the  other,  now  her  hands,  again  back  to  her  feet, 
he  took  them  in  rotation,  and  as  he  labored 
her  breathing,  which  had  been  almost  imper- 

3  25 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ceptible,  deepened  and  strengthened.  Once  she 
sighed,  and,  looking  quickly  up,  he  saw  under  the 
glow  of  the  lantern  that  her  face  was  taking  a 
slight  color. 

"She's  comin'  around.  Now  if  the  frost 
didn't  go  too  deep  she'll  be  all  right." 

Murmuring  it,  he  fell  to  rubbing  harder  than 
ever,  so  hard  indeed  that  the  vigorous  chafing 
drowned  the  soft  closing  of  the  door,  the  stealthy 
pad  of  moccasins  across  the  mud  floor.  Not 
till  the  blanket  moved  under  the  lumberjack's 
hand  was  he  aware  of  his  presence.  Springing 
up  then,  he  filled  the  opening  with  his  body, 
drawing  the  blanket  close  behind  him. 

"I  said  that  I  didn't  need  any  help!"  The 
flash  of  his  eye  accentuated  the  sharp  anger 
of  the  tone. 

"Didn't  you  call?  I  reckoned  you  did. 
Must  ha'  been  the  wind." 

The  fellow  was  lying,  and  the  other  knew  it. 
But,  though  his  hard  fists  bunched  at  his  sides,  it 
was  no  time  for  a  quarrel.  For  the  girl's  sake  he 
took  the  easy  way  the  line  opened.  "I  didn't, 
but  since  you're  here  I'll  use  you.  Light  a  fire 
at  once.  Not  too  much  at  first;  the  place  will 
have  to  be  warmed  slowly." 

Though  he  did  not  catch  the  words  "You're 
hell  on  orders,  ain't  you?"  he  did  hear  the  mum- 
ble. But,  keeping  a  grip  on  himself,  he  stood 
watching  till  the  other  began  to  whittle  shavings. 
Returning  inside  the  blanket  then,  he  did  not 

26 


CROSS   TRAILS 

hear,  nor  was  intended  to  hear,  the  fellow's  mut- 
ter a  few  minutes  later: 

"One  crack  with  this — "  He  was  balancing 
a  stick,  smooth,  polished,  as  thick  as  his  wrist, 
that  Dominique  used  for  a  poker.  "Just  one 
crack — "  Half  rising,  he  moved  a  step,  his  red 
eyes  fixed  on  the  blanket  curtain,  then  paused; 
moved  another  step,  two,  three;  then,  as  a  faint 
clash  of  bells  pierced  through  the  howl  of  the 
storm,  he  hurried  back  to  the  mud  hearth  and 
fell  again  to  his  whittling. 

Behind  the  blankets  the  girl  had  just  opened 
her  eyes.  For  some  seconds  thereafter  she  lay, 
her  eyes  dark  with  puzzle  which  presently  merged 
in  dislike  and  alarm.  Anticipating  an  attempt 
to  rise,  the  Boss  had  placed  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  now  he  kept  it  there  despite  her 
struggles. 

"You  are  ill.     Don't  try  to  get  up." 

"It  is — you.''"  Anger,  mingled  with  surprise, 
in  her  tone. 

"Yes,  I.  You  were  lost.  I  picked  you  up, 
half  frozen,  on  the  trail  a  few  miles  from  here. 
Be  quiet,  please!"  He  sharply  rebuked  a  second 
attempt  to  rise.  "And  don't  make  a  scene. 
We  are  not  alone." 

Catching  in  his  turn  a  second  and  louder  clash 
of  bells,  he  stepped  outside  the  blankets.  "Fire 
on  yet?  Good!  Dominique  and  your  friends 
are  outside.  I  hardly  thought  they'd  make  it. 
Take  out  a  light  and  help  them  unhitch." 

27 


CROSS    TRAILS 

As  the  door  closed  he  went  back  to  the  girl. 
"Now,  listen.  It  was  not  my  fault  that  you  got 
yourself  lost,  and  let  me  assure  you  that  this  is 
not  the  end  of  the  adventure.  You  have  had 
a  very  narrow  escape — " 

"But—" 

"And  " — he  went  quietly  on  to  quell  the  mutiny 
that  was  waxing  in  her  eyes — "seeing  that  you 
are  dependent  for  the  time  being,  you  might 
as  well  try  to  behave  with  decency.  Your  hands 
and  feet  are  frozen.  It  is  too  early  to  say  how 
badly  yet.  But  this  much  I  promise  you" — he 
rose  to  an  inspiration — "if  you  refuse  or  inter- 
fere with  my  efforts  on  your  behalf  you  won't 
die,  but  you  will  go  for  the  remainder  of  your 
days  on  wooden  legs.  And  your  family,  as 
you  know,  are  quite  long-lived." 

"Brute!"  It  was  the  last  sarcastic  reference 
that  produced  the  epithet.  Yet  her  anger  could 
not  quite  kill  the  sudden  horror  the  prospect  set 
in  her  eyes.  After  a  moment  of  thought  she 
asked,  "Well,  what  do  you  propose.?" 

"First,  to  finish  drawing  out  the  frost.  Then 
I  shall  alternate  hot  foot-baths  with  cold  snow- 
packs  to  keep  the  blood  humming  through  the 
injured  parts.  Stagnation  is  the  one  thing  to  be 
feared." 

"And  to-morrow  you  will  send  me  on  to  Lake 
Winnipegosis?" 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  going  to  do  up 
there?" 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"Visit  Nell  Byron.  She  is  wintering  there 
with  her  husband." 

"Oh,  I  see."  His  nod  indicated  mutual 
acquaintance. 

"You  will  send  me  on.^^" 

"That  depends."  He  answered  with  caution. 
"I  won't  make  a  promise  I  cannot  fulfil.  By 
this  time  to-morrow  the  blizzard  will  be  at  its 
highest,  and  it  may  last  out  for  a  week.  We  have 
to  go  on  to  the  camp — to  get  you  the  food  and 
shelter  you  need." 

"To  the  camp — your  camp.^*"  she  exclaimed,  in 
dismay. 

"To  my  camp." 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"You  will  still  go." 

For  a  long  pause  she  surveyed  him  with  rising 
anger.  Then,  swallowing,  she  asked,  "And  if  I 
comply  .f^" 

"I  will  send  you  on  just  as  soon  as  your  own 
condition  and  the  weather  permit." 

"Very  well."  She  heaved  a  distasteful  sigh. 
"I'll  have  to  endure  it." 

"Of  course,  if  you  prefer  wooden  legs — " 

"Don't  be  sarcastic.  I'm  helpless — and  you 
know  what  I  mean." 

If  he  did  not  he  might  easily  have  learned 
from  her  shiver  of  repugnance  when  she  felt 
his  hands  kneading  and  pressing  her  feet.  A 
filmy  cloud  had  already  formed  in  the  kerosene, 
and  this  grew  with  his  manipulation  till  the 

29 


CROSS   TRAILS 

fluid  was  milky  white.  It  was  the  frost  slowly 
exuding,  and  as  it  came  out  pains  and  aches  set 
in,  developing  after  a  while  into  excruciating 
agony  that  blinded  her  to  all  else. 

Barely  conscious  of  rough  whispers  beyond  the 
curtain,  she  lay  passive  under  his  hands  during 
the  long  hours  he  was  applying  the  snow-packs 
and  hot  fomentations  which  Red  Dominique 
prepared  at  the  fire.  It  is  doubtful  whether  she 
once  heard  the  half-breed's  continual  murmur: 
"The  poor  leetle  gel.  By  Gar,  it  ees  too  bad!" 
If  she  felt  resentment  she  was  too  weak  to  pro- 
test against  the  hand  that  wiped  the  perspiration 
of  agony  off  her  brow.  And  when  at  last  the 
pain  eased  a  little  she  sank  into  exhausted  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IV 

STEALING  quite  late  through  the  icy 
window-pane,  the  grayest  of  gray  dawns 
revealed  a  tamed  and  submissive  Gabrielle. 
Exhausted  by  her  night  of  pain,  she  lay  still  after 
she  awakened,  listless  and  indifferent,  amid  the 
bustle  of  departure.  After  taking  some  beef- 
tea,  brewed  by  Red  Dominique,  she  relapsed  in- 
to a  doze.  She  awakened  again  when,  heavily 
wrapped  in  blankets  and  furs,  she  was  lifted  and 
laid  on  a  bed  of  hay  in  the  bottom  of  the  freight- 
ing-sled  which  had  been  emptied  of  all  but  one 
quarter  of  beef  required  for  her  future  sustenance. 
With  hot  stones  at  her  sides  and  feet  and  a  bottle 
of  hot  beef-tea  that  warmed  her  hands  while 
providing  for  present  uses,  she  could  defy  the 
blizzard  which  now  made  of  earth,  air,  and  sky 
one  blanched  space. 

Her  head  being  entirely  covered,  there  re- 
mained to  her  only  feeling  which  in  a  dim  way 
kept  her  informed  of  their  progress.  A  sideling 
lunge,  for  instance,  marked  the  falling  of  the 
sled  off  the  trail.  Sometimes,  however,  the 
frozen  surface  of  a  drift  would  hold  up  the 
runners  till  they  had  departed  wide  of  the  trail, 

31 


CROSS    TRAILS 

and  a  full  stop  told  that  Red  Dominique  was 
casting  about  to  find  it.  Always  he  succeeded, 
and  the  renewed  grind  of  the  runners  testified 
to  the  infallibility  of  the  instinct  that  goes  with 
Indian  blood.  At  stated  intervals,  too,  the 
wraps  would  be  drawn  back  and,  raw-red  from 
the  sting  of  the  blizzard,  the  Boss's  face  would 
loom  like  a  setting  sun  in  a  white  snow-flurry 
while  he  gave  her  a  drink  of  beef-tea. 

*' We  shall  soon  be  off  the  prairies,"  he  told  her, 
about  noon.  "Once  in  the  shelter  of  the  woods 
on  the  hard  trail,  we  shall  hitch  on  the  ponies  and 
just  rattle  along." 

A  sudden  jerk,  followed  by  swift  sidelings  at 
sharp  turns,  marked  the  change,  and  had  she 
been  able  to  see  she  would  surely  have  wondered 
at  the  pluck  and  endurance  of  the  little  beasts. 
After  their  hard  morning's  pull  through  the 
drifts  they  flew  at  a  gallop  along  the  aisles  of 
dark  spruce  which  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
poplar,  and  kept  it  up  hour  after  hour  till  the  day 
darkened  into  night.  Not  seeing,  she  passed 
gradually  from  a  waking  doze  into  real  sleep  that 
lasted  till  she  was  aroused  by  the  flash  of  a 
lantern. 

Refreshed,  she  sat  up  and  looked  around,  but 
her  dazzled  eyes  gave  her  at  first  only  dim, 
gigantic  shapes,  huge,  dark  cones  of  surrounding 
spruce  looming  in  a  silver  veil  of  falling  snow. 
She  next  caught  the  black  mass  of  a  building, 
the  camp  ofiice,  and  other  dim  squares  of  yellow 

32 


NATURALLY  AS  A  CHILD  CLINGS  TO  ITS  FATHER,  SHE  CLUNG  TO  HIM 


..f. 


CROSS    TRAILS 

windows  of  the  cook-house.  Then,  as  its  bearer 
upheld  his  lantern,  there  came  into  view  under 
its  golden  aureole  a  face  cast  in  the  likeness  of  the 
old  Vikings.  The  steady,  sea-blue  eyes,  aquiline 
nose,  drooping  blond  mustaches  required  only  the 
tight  fur  cap  flaked  with  glittering  snow  to 
complete  the  likeness.  The  man's  great  stature, 
too,  fitted  the  part.  Until  he  bent  over  her 
Gabrielle  thought  him  terrifying.  But  the  quiet 
radiance  of  his  eyes  reassured  and  soothed  her. 
His  voice  equaled  them  in  gentleness. 

"With  your  permission,  miss,  I'll  just  pick 
you  up  and  carry  you  right  in." 

His  smile  completed  her  capture.  When  he 
lifted  her  she,  Gabrielle,  who  had  fled  the 
Portage  from  the  sight  of  men,  who,  later,  had 
repelled  the  Boss,  her  savior  and  benefactor, 
slid  an  arm  around  the  man's  great  bull  neck. 
Naturally  as  a  child  clings  to  its  father  she  clung 
to  him.  Naturally  as  that  father,  without  a 
shadow  of  embarrassment,  he  carried  her  in  and 
set  her  down  on  a  pile  of  furs  in  front  of  a  blazing 
fire.  Equally  remarkable,  the  Boss,  who  had 
stood  guard  over  her,  asleep  or  awake,  allowing 
no  other  hand  to  touch  her,  observed  it  with  a 
sigh  of  relief. 

"It's  good  that  she  has  taken  to  him,"  he 
passed  inward  comment. 

As  was  natural  and  proper  to  his  position  as 
foreman  of  the  camp,  the  big  Norseman  went 
quietly  on  assuming  more  and  more  of  a  host's  re- 

33 


CROSS    TRAILS 

sponsibilities.    A  second-generation  Norse- Amer- . 
ican,  he  had  eked  out  an  imperfect  education  by 
steady  reading,  and  his  speech  lacked  the  bar- 
barous locutions  customary  in  men  of  his  stamp. 

"We  are  not  exactly  fixed  for  entertaining." 
From  the  bunk  which  he  was  making  up  with  a 
skill  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  professional 
chambermaid  he  sent  his  gentle  smile  across  to 
the  girl.  "Luckily,  we  have  one  decent  mattress 
in  the  camp." 

He  did  not  explain  that  he  had  just  appro- 
priated it  from  the  bunk  of  the  English  clerk, 
whose  Sybaritic  taste  in  this  respect  was  the 
stock  joke  of  the  bunk-houses,  and  when  its 
owner  came  in  from  his  dinner  he  packed  him  off 
to  warn  the  cook  to  "get  busy  with  some  soup," 
then  to  find  new  quarters  for  himself.  If  his  bed- 
making  lacked  sheets,  the  woolly  whiteness  of 
the  Hudson  Bay  duffle  blankets  he  took,  new, 
from  the  store  shelves,  more  than  made  up  for 
them  in  that  climate.  Gabrielle  would  not  listen 
to  his  apologies. 

"They  look  so  comfortable  and  warm — and 
I'm  so  tired.     I  should  like  to  go  to  bed  at  once." 

"After  you  have  had  something  to  eat."  The 
Boss,  who  had  stood  looking  on,  now  spoke. 
"But  first  I  should  like  Nelson  to  look  at  your 
feet.  He  has  had  a  great  deal  of  experience  with 
frost-bites." 

She  consented  at  once,  unwrapping  the  mem- 
bers herself  for  the  foreman's  inspection.     Drop- 

84 


CROSS   TRAILS 

ping  on  his  knees,  he,  on  his  part,  carefully  ex- 
amined them,  and  if  his  experience,  wide  as  it 
was,  had  covered  no  members  at  once  so  small 
and  delicate,  it  was  not  discoverable  from  his 
manner.  An  octogenarian  physician  could  not 
have  achieved  an  impersonality  at  once  so 
comforting  and  reassuring. 

"Any  pain.?^"  When  she  replied  that  only  a 
slight  ache  combined  with  great  soreness  re- 
mained, he  exclaimed:  "Fine!  It  was  the  hot- 
and-cold  treatment  that  did  it.  You  may  lose 
a  little  skin;  but  don't  fear,  it  will  heal  without 
a  scar.  What  they  need  now  is  a  rub  with  olive- 
oil.     There's  a  bottle  up  there  on  the  shelf." 

The  Boss  was  already  reaching  for  it.  But 
when,  after  pouring  some  into  his  palm,  he  made 
to  kneel  beside  her  she  quickly  drew  in  her  feet. 
Noticing  it,  the  foreman  glanced  up  and  so 
caught  her  look  of  revulsion — also  the  Boss's 
frown.  But,  smothering  back  the  flash  of  tem- 
per, the  latter  passed  the  bottle  over. 

"If  you  will  please  do  it.  Nelson,  I'll  go 
and  see  about  some  broth." 

The  cook,  however,  was  already  at  the  door. 

In  these  degenerate  days,  when  kings  retain 
merely  the  shadow  of  powers  and  even  your 
emperors  go  muzzled,  it  is  comforting  to  know 
that  one  autocrat  remains  to  perpetuate  their 
vanished  glories.  By  reason  of  his  emperage  of 
the  stomach,  the  seat  of  masculine  content,  the 
cook  of  a  lumber-camp  is  able  to  break  or  main- 

35 


CROSS    TRAILS 

had  eaten  and  gone  off  to  bed,  and,  crossing  over 
to  the  cook-house,  their  way  lay  through  a  dark 
and  silent  camp.  The  half-dozen  bunk-houses 
loomed  black  and  lightless  in  a  gray  veil  of  falling 
snow.  Having  washed  up  and  set  the  tables  for 
breakfast,  the  two  "cookees"  had  followed  suit, 
and  when  they  entered  the  cook-house  a  single 
reflector-light  at  the  end  of  the  long  room  lit  the 
great  ceiling  balks,  heavy  log  walls,  and  long 
tables  set  with  double  rows  of  tinware.  As  he 
had  to  rise  at  three,  the  cook  turned  in  to  his 
own  bunk  in  the  corner  next  the  stove  the  instant 
he  had  served  dinner. 

At  first  their  talk  dealt  altogether  with  business 
matters,  for,  with  that  natural  delicacy  which 
often  resides  under  the  roughest  exteriors,  the 
foreman  made  no  reference  to  either  Gabrielle  or 
her  queer  behavior.  From  a  long  trek  it  came 
round  to  her,  at  last,  through  a  question  of  sup- 
plies. 

"We  had  to  take  Dominique's  sled  for — the 
young  lady."  The  Boss  explained  the  freighter's 
absence.  "He's  coming  on  with  her  pony,  my 
sled,  and  three  new  men.  He  ought  to  get  in 
before  midnight,  and  to-morrow  he  can  go  back 
for  his  load." 

From  this  opening  he  went  on  to  describe  the 
events  of  the  preceding  night,  and  not  until  he 
concluded  did  the  foreman  hint  at  that  which  was 
in  his  mind.  "Lucky  for  her  that  it  was  you  that 
picked  her  up.    No  man  without  medical  knowl- 

38 


CROSS    TRAILS 

edge  could  have  cared  for  her  like  that,  and  with- 
out it  she'd  sure  haveio  ^  both  feet.  But  say — 
you'll  excuse  me  if  I  s^'  fresh? — but  she  doesn't 
seem  any  too  gratefu*         it  was  any  one  else — " 

"You'd  think  I'd  insulted  her?  Don't  be 
afraid  to  say  it." 

"I'm  not.  I've  known  you— .et  me  see,  ever 
since  I've  been  bossing  camps  for  your  father,  and 
that  puts  you  back  knee-high,  and  in  all  that 
time  I've  never  seen  or  heard  you  do  or  say  any- 
thing that  would  give  offense  to  a  woman.  It 
isn't  in  you,  and  yet — she  couldn't  treat  you 
worse  if  you  were — " 

"Her  husband." 

The  significance  of  the  accent  caused  the  fore- 
man to  lop^:  up  in  quick  surprise.  "You  don't 
mean  to  i,    — " 

"I  do.>    .he's  my  wife." 

"But— (L  at" — he  stammered  painfully — "there 
was  never  a  whisper — about  the  marriage?" 

"Wasn't  likely  to  be — the  way  it  turned  out. 
You  see" — he  shrugged,  and  went  on  with  light- 
ness that  was  plainly  affected — "in  the  words  of 
the  story-books,  she  left  me  at  the  altar." 

"I — I'm  sorry.  If  I'd  known — "  Every  line 
of  his  strong,  good  face  betrayed  such  pained 
embarrassment  that  the  other  had  to  laugh. 

"Don't  worry."  He  put  out  his  hand.  "As 
you  say,  you've  known  me  ever  since  I  was  knee- 
high,  and  next  to  my  father  there's  no  person  in 
all  this  world  has  a  better  right  to  my  confidence. 

39 


CROSS    TRAILS 

I  didn't  tell  you  so  much.  Nelson,  without  in- 
tending to  tell  you  everything — besides,  as  she  is 
here,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  understand 
the  situation. 

"I  won't  have  to  go  very  far  back  for  the 
beginning,  for  you  know  how  my  father  tried  to 
make  a  bad  doctor  out  of  a  good  lumberman  by 
entering  me  for  a  medical  course  in  Montreal.  I 
was  going  to  say  that  it  was  there  we  met,  but 
unfortunately  it  wasn't,  for  if  we  had  the  affair 
would  have  had  an  entirely  different  termination. 
But  I  did  meet  her  cousin,  who,  over  a  year  after- 
ward, was  responsible  for  our  acquaintance.  She 
lived  with  her  family  there  in  Montreal. 

"It's  trite,  I  know,  to  exclaim  at  the  light 
chances  that  turn  the  current  of  a  life,  neverthe- 
less it's  a  pity  the  meeting  was  deferred.  I'd 
been  out  in  the  woods  so  much  with  you  and  the 
old  dad  that  I'd  sort  of  slipped  up  on  my  wild 
oats,  was  green  as  grass  so  far  as  women  were 
concerned,  and  was  just  in  right  condition  to 
profit  by  the  acquaintance  of  a  nice  girl.  But 
all  that  year  I  ran  with  the  medical  crowd, 
always  the  wildest  in  any  college.  Do  you  re- 
member Joe  Viguier.'^" 

"Old  Joe  who  used  to  come  up  for  the  spring 
log  drives  on  the  Matteawan?    Of  course." 

"Did  you  ever  see  his  daughter?'* 

"Susanne?  Yes,  about  five  years  ago.  She 
was  a  fine  animal  of  a  girl — lusty,  big-limbed, 
with  deep  black  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  was  always 

40 


CROSS    TRAILS 

saying,  *Meet  me  around  the  corner.'  But  I've 
heard  of  her  since — nothing  to  her  credit." 

"  Well,  in  his  last  years  Joe  ran  a  tavern  down 
by  the  riverside,  but  when  I  first  went  there  with 
a  couple  of  medicos  he  was  away  on  the  drive 
where  he  got  drowned,  and  I  didn't  know  that 
Susanne  was  his  girl.  But  if  I  didn't  know  them, 
both  she  and  her  mother — a  bad  old  woman — 
knew  me,  and  looking  back  on  it  all  I'm  inclined 
to  think  that  they  laid  their  plans  from  the  very 
beginning  to  trap  me — not  in  the  way  it  actually 
occurred,  perhaps,  for  at  first  Susanne  affected 
the  modest  and  proper  with  a  view  of  drawing  me 
on  to  marriage.  But  her  reputation  was  already 
too  much  to  the  bad  for  that,  and  after  she  once 
made  up  her  mind  that  the  fellows  had  put  me 
wise,  she  threw  the  proprieties  to  the  four  winds 
and  took  the  sowing  of  my  wild  oats  into  her  own 
hands. 

"I'll  have  to  confess  that  she  did  a  good  job. 
From  a  comparatively  innocent  and  well-inten- 
tioned youth  she  turned  me  in  less  than  a  year 
into  a  decidedly  tough  young  man.  Whereas 
previously  I  had  labored  to  fulfil  my  father's 
ambition  I  now  cut  classes,  smoked  to  excess, 
drank  heavily,  and,  after  taking  a  leading  part 
in  a  disgraceful  row,  was  finally  expelled  from 
college. 

"I  don't  have  to  tell  you  how  it  hurt  the  old 
dad.  You  have  often  heard  him  planning  for  my 
future.    But  instead   of  casting  me  off  like  the 

4  41 


CROSS    TRAILS 

I  didn't  tell  you  so  much.  Nelson,  without  in- 
tending to  tell  you  everything — besides,  as  she  is 
here,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  understand 
the  situation. 

"I  won't  have  to  go  very  far  back  for  the 
beginning,  for  you  know  how  my  father  tried  to 
make  a  bad  doctor  out  of  a  good  lumberman  by 
entering  me  for  a  medical  course  in  Montreal.  I 
was  going  to  say  that  it  was  there  we  met,  but 
unfortunately  it  wasn't,  for  if  we  had  the  affair 
would  have  had  an  entirely  different  termination. 
But  I  did  meet  her  cousin,  who,  over  a  year  after- 
ward, was  responsible  for  our  acquaintance.  She 
lived  with  her  family  there  in  Montreal. 

"It's  trite,  I  know,  to  exclaim  at  the  light 
chances  that  turn  the  current  of  a  life,  neverthe- 
less it's  a  pity  the  meeting  was  deferred.  I'd 
been  out  in  the  woods  so  much  with  you  and  the 
old  dad  that  I'd  sort  of  slipped  up  on  my  wild 
oats,  was  green  as  grass  so  far  as  women  were 
concerned,  and  was  just  in  right  condition  to 
profit  by  the  acquaintance  of  a  nice  girl.  But 
all  that  year  I  ran  with  the  medical  crowd, 
always  the  wildest  in  any  college.  Do  you  re- 
member Joe  Viguier.'^'* 

"Old  Joe  who  used  to  come  up  for  the  spring 
log  drives  on  the  Matteawan?    Of  course." 

"Did  you  ever  see  his  daughter?*' 

"Susanne?  Yes,  about  five  years  ago.  She 
was  a  fine  animal  of  a  girl — lusty,  big-limbed, 
with  deep  black  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  was  always 

40 


CROSS    TRAILS 

saying,  'Meet  me  around  the  corner.'  But  I've 
heard  of  her  since — nothing  to  her  credit." 

"Well,  in  his  last  years  Joe  ran  a  tavern  down 
by  the  riverside,  but  when  I  first  went  there  with 
a  couple  of  medicos  he  was  away  on  the  drive 
where  he  got  drowned,  and  I  didn't  know  that 
Susanne  was  his  girl.  But  if  I  didn't  know  them, 
both  she  and  her  mother — a  bad  old  woman — 
knew  me,  and  looking  back  on  it  all  I'm  inclined 
to  think  that  they  laid  their  plans  from  the  very 
beginning  to  trap  me — not  in  the  way  it  actually 
occurred,  perhaps,  for  at  first  Susanne  affected 
the  modest  and  proper  with  a  view  of  drawing  me 
on  to  marriage.  But  her  reputation  was  already 
too  much  to  the  bad  for  that,  and  after  she  once 
made  up  her  mind  that  the  fellows  had  put  me 
wise,  she  threw  the  proprieties  to  the  four  winds 
and  took  the  sowing  of  my  wild  oats  into  her  own 
hands. 

"I'll  have  to  confess  that  she  did  a  good  job. 
From  a  comparatively  innocent  and  well-inten- 
tioned youth  she  turned  me  in  less  than  a  year 
into  a  decidedly  tough  young  man.  Whereas 
previously  I  had  labored  to  fulfil  my  father's 
ambition  I  now  cut  classes,  smoked  to  excess, 
drank  heavily,  and,  after  taking  a  leading  part 
in  a  disgraceful  row,  was  finally  expelled  from 
college. 

"I  don't  have  to  tell  you  how  it  hurt  the  old 
dad.  You  have  often  heard  him  planning  for  my 
future.    But  instead   of  casting  me  off  like  the 

4  41 


CROSS    TRAILS 

fathers  of  fiction  he  took  it  very  quietly,  and 
let  me  follow  my  natural  bent.  After  a  stiff 
lecture  that  kept  me  guessing  as  to  his  intentions 
he  placed  me  in  charge  of  one  of  his  Ottawa 
camps. 

"Of  course  he  knew  that  would  keep  me  away 
from  Montreal  and  Susanne,  and  it  did  —  all 
that  winter  and  the  spring  months  till  the  end  of 
the  log  drive;  and  when  I  did  return — queer 
how  contrary  things  run — the  first  fellow  I  met 
was  Gabrielle's  cousin,  and  he  took  me  to  a  dance 
that  very  night  at  her  house. 

"This  is  a  cynical  age.  Your  psychologists  of 
fiction  have  analyzed  and  dissected  love  till 
there's  little  left  of  poor  Cupid  but  bones  and  a 
corpse — which  probably  will  be  completely  cre- 
mated in  the  next  novel  of  passion.  Those  books 
make  a  fellow  wonder  if  the  authors  were  ever 
young.  If  they  ever  did  experience  the  cool 
sweetness  of  a  first  love  the  very  memory  of  it 
seems  to  have  shriveled  and  burned  up  in  the 
flame  of  grosser  affairs.  But  call  it  sentimental 
or  not,  as  you  like,  the  fact  remains  that  a  young 
fellow's  first  love  is  usually  as  pure  and  passion- 
less as  that  of  a  mother  for  her  child. 

"At  least  mine  was.  An  only  son  without 
sisters  to  bring  me  in  contact  with  their  girl 
friends,  I  had  missed  the  half-dozen  calf  loves 
that  come  to  a  boy  in  his  teens.  You  might 
expect  that  Susanne  would  have  killed  all  that 
in  me.     But   somehow   she  hadn't — I   suppose 

42 


CROSS   TRAILS 

because  a  fellow  instinctively  places  a  gulf  wide 
as  the  poles  between  good  girls  and  the  other 
kind. 

"Into  my  feeling  for  Gabrielle  entered  all  of 
the  tender,  infinitely  shy  worship  of  boy-and-girl 
love.  When,  that  first  night,  I  sat  out  two  dances 
with  her  and  watched,  as  we  talked,  her  dark 
lashes  fluttering  like  butterfly  wings  across  her 
shy  glances,  I  would  as  soon  have  plunged  a  knife 
into  her  as  have  profaned  her  cool  virginity  with 
a  base  thought.  If  the  play  of  her  breath  on  my 
cheek,  intimate  contacts  of  the  succeeding  waltz, 
thrilled  and  intoxicated  me,  it  was  still  all  clean 
and  healthy  feeling.  From  the  gutters  of  passion 
into  which  Susanne  had  cast  me  Gabrielle's  fine 
young  womanhood  lifted  me  with  the  attraction 
of  a  powerful  magnet.  Going  home  that  night, 
and  many  another  night,  I  bitterly  repented  of 
the  gross  folly  that  barred  me  from  approaching 
her  with  clean  hands. 

"For  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  win  her,  and, 
as  she  had  taken  to  me  also  at  first  sight,  I  didn't 
let  any  grass  grow  under  my  feet.  In  two  weeks 
we  were  engaged,  and,  as  her  family  were  willing 
and  the  old  dad  wished  to  see  me  settled  before, 
as  he  thought,  I  had  time  to  mix  up  with  any 
foolish  entanglements,  the  date  was  set  for  an 
early  wedding.  She  comes  of  old  French  stock, 
blended  in  later  years  with  an  even  mixture  of 
Yankee  and  Scotch.  Ever  since  the  Hudson 
Bay  Company  took  its  charter  from  the  hand 

43 


CROSS   TRAILS 

of  King  Charles  they  have  been  in  it.  As  fac- 
tors, clerks,  commissioners,  governors,  some  one 
of  them  has  always  held  a  position  of  importance, 
and  the  remainder  have  done  so  well  at  it  that 
no  less  than  four  of  the  present  generation  were 
at  McGill's  with  me.  So  because  of  the  impor- 
tance and  age  of  the  family,  and  my  old  dad's 
position  in  the  commercial  world,  the  Montreal 
papers  gave  the  engagement  a  great  deal  of  space 
— so  much,  in  fact,  that  Gabrielle's  distaste  for 
the  notoriety  caused  her  to  arrange  for  a  quiet 
wedding  in  an  obscure  little  church. 

"I  don't  believe  it  possible  for  any  man  to  be 
happier  than  I  was  during  those  two  weeks. 
Unconscious  of  the  trap  that  was  being  laid  for 
my  feet,  I  lived  in  a  happy  dream  up  to  the 
moment  that  I  returned  home,  happy  and  up- 
lifted from  a  last  call  on  my  sweetheart,  to  find 
Susanne's  mother  waiting  in  the  hall  the  night 
before  the  wedding.  Just  how  she  learned  the 
date  I  don't  know,  but  suppose  that  she  estab- 
lished some  sort  of  communication  with  the  ser- 
vants in  Gabrielle's  house.  At  any  rate,  there 
she  was,  a  stout,  hard-featured,  evil-eyed  old 
woman,  whose  every  line  and  wrinkle  told  of 
baseness. 

"Her  wicked  eyes  snapped  and  burned  from 
a  combination  of  nervousness  and  false  anger 
when  she  spoke.  *Yes,'  she  demanded,  when  I 
admitted  that  I  was  to  be  married,  *and  what 
are  you  going  to  do  for  your  child?' 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"Astounded,  I  stared  at  her  for  some  seconds, 
and  when  I  finally  gathered  her  meaning  it  was 
more  from  the  low  cunning  of  her  expression  than 
the  sense  of  her  words.  'Why — why' — I  stam- 
mered in  my  surprise — *  this  is  impossible — ridicu- 
lous; I  haven't  even  seen  Susanne  for  nearly  a 
year.' 

"She  made  capital  out  of  my  hesitation.  'No 
wonder  your  tongue  balks  at  the  lie.  But  it  won't 
serve  you,  my  pretty  fellow.  There's  witnesses 
that  will  swear  to  your  comings  and  goings  at 
the  tavern.' 

"It  was  a  hold-up,  of  course,  of  the  rankest 
kind,  but  the  very  impudence  of  it  aroused  my 
curiosity,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  lost  by 
feeling  her  out.    'How  old  is  the  child.^*'  I  asked. 

"But  she  dodged.  'You  will  find  out — at  the 
proper  time.' 

"The  last  time  I  was  at  the  tavern  there  had 
been  neither  sign  nor  hint  of  its  existence,  and, 
feeling  pretty  sure  of  myself,  I  drew  her  on. 
'And  what  might  be  your  idea  of  "the  right 
thing".?' 

"'Five  thousand  dollars,  paid  here  and  now.' 

"'That's  a  large  sum  to  raise  at  a  moment's 
notice.' 

"She  put  away  the  objection  with  an  evil 
grin.  'Not  for  your  father.  He  could  give  a 
check  for  ten  times  the  amount.' 

"That  was  the  game — to  bleed  the  good  old 
dad — just  as  though  he  hadn't  suffered  enough 

45 


CROSS    TRAILS 

through  me.  So  far  I  had  restrained  my  anger, 
and  it  would  have  been  better  had  I  held  it  in 
till  the  end,  for  nothing  but  cold  logic  serves 
with  a  blackmailer.  But  the  thought  of  the  dad 
being  held  up  for  thousands  and  scandalized  on 
the  eve  of  my  marriage  overpowered  my  discre- 
tion. Too  angry  to  speak,  I  flung  open  the  door 
and  banged  it  in  her  evil  face  after  she  went  out, 
cutting  off  a  parting  threat: 

"'You'll  be  sorry  for  this — ' 

"Her  vindictive  passion  ought  to  have"warned 
me,  and  I  can  assure  you  in  any  case  that  my 
reflections  that  night  were  anything  but  pleasant. 
They  were  due,  however,  altogether  to  remorse, 
for  I  was  absolutely  certain  of  the  physical  impos- 
sibility of  their  establishing  the  charge.  I  had 
failed,  however,  to  allow  for  the  ignorance  and 
hate  that  may  influence  a  blackmailer  as  power- 
fully as  greed.  Also,  in  their  lack  of  imagination, 
they  may  still  have  expected  to  make  money  out 
of  the  scandal.  Cutting  a  long  story — as  we 
came  down  the  aisle,  the  next  morning,  after  the 
marriage,  Susanne  herself  rose  suddenly  from 
a  pew  and  thrust  a  crying  baby  into  Gabrielle's 
arms. 

" '  You  are  his  wife !   Now  look  after  his  child !' " 

"Phew!"  The  foreman,  who  had  listened  with 
increasing  attention,  emitted  a  whistle.  "Lordy! 
But  that  is  what  you  might  rightly  call  one  hell 
of  a  situation." 

"That's  how  it  felt,  and  for  Gabrielle  it  was 

46 


CROSS    TRAILS 

even  worse.  Her  people  are  not  Catholic,  but 
she  was  educated  in  the  convent,  and  you  know 
what  that  means.  The  shock  must  have  been 
terrible,  yet  she  did  not  break  down.  On  the 
contrary,  when  her  father  tried  to  take  the  child 
she  drew  away  and  turned  to  me. 

"'Is  it  yours.'^'    She  asked  it  quietly  as  that. 

"It  wasn't,  and  my  answer  carried  conviction. 
But  when  she  continued  her  quiet  examination, 
*What  were  your  relations  with  the  mother.'*' 
I  was  stumped,  and  could  make  no  answer. 

"She  gave  me  time  enough,  but  as  she  stood 
still  holding  the  child  her  expression  gradually 
changed  from  pleading  to  scorn.  'Then  your 
innocence  was  merely  accidental.  Come!'  And, 
beckoning  Susanne  to  follow,  she  carried  the  child 
into  the  sanctuary. 

"Till  she  reached  the  door  I  stood  stunned,  un- 
able to  think  of  anything  or  to  do  anything — the 
thing  had  come  so  suddenly — and  after  it  closed 
behind  her  I  still  stood  till  the  whisperings 
among  the  guests  aroused  me.  Leaving  the 
church,  then,  I  drove  home  in  the  very  carriage 
that  was  to  have  taken  us  to  the  station,  and 
here  again  crooked  fate  lay  in  wait  for  me. 
After  changing  my  clothes  I  left  the  house  with 
no  other  intention  than  of  clearing  the  blood 
from  my  brain  by  exercise.  But  only  a  few 
paces  down  the  street  I  met  one  of  my  old  friends 
of  the  medical  school — the  hardest  drinker  of 
them  all. 

47 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"It  was  unfortunate.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
scandal  never  got  into  the  papers;  moreover, 
after  a  little  quiet  questioning  by  the  priest, 
eked  out  by  my  old  dad's  threat  of  an  investiga- 
tion by  the  police,  Susanne  exonerated  me  from 
the  paternity  of  the  child.  If  I  had  only  kept 
straight  Gabrielle  might  have  been  persuaded 
to  overlook  it,  for  both  her  own  family  and  the 
old  dad  were  pleading  with  her  all  the  time. 
But  meeting  this  man  in  the  moment  of  my 
bitter  humiliation,  I  fell  an  easy  victim.  If  the 
ten  days'  debauch  we  entered  on  went  no  farther 
than  perpetual  intoxication  it  was  merely  be- 
cause, a  confirmed  alcoholic,  his  desires  were 
bounded  by  unlimited  liquor,  for  I  was  ripe  and 
ready  to  go  the  pace.  However,  it  was  more 
than  sufficient.  Before  the  old  dad  succeeded  in 
rounding  me  up  I  had  been  seen  by  several  of 
Gabrielle's  friends  and  relatives,  and  that  set- 
tled my  case.  Ever  since  I  have  been  out  here 
trying  to  forget  it." 

He  had  begun  in  the  passionless  manner  of 
one  speaking  of  dead  events;  but  as  he  pro- 
ceeded his  voice  grew  tense,  and  into  it  crept  the 
unmistakable  note  of  suffering.  The  light  sweat 
which  broke  all  over  his  face  plainly  told  that 
this  had  been  no  light  love.  Undoubtedly  it  was 
to  conceal  emotion  that  he  took  a  swallow  of 
coffee  and  went  on  eating. 

The  foreman,  too,  resumed  his  dinner.  The 
glance  of  pity  he  sent  across  the  table  expressed 

48 


CROSS    TRAILS 

warm  sympathy.  But  when,  after  a  season  of 
thoughtful  chewing,  he  spoke,  it  was  in  defense 
of  the  woman.  "I  don't  reckon  that  you,  your- 
self, have  blamed  her.f^  That  was  an  awful  big 
package  to  hand  in  one  lump  to  an  innocent 
girl." 

"No,  I  haven't.  She  followed  her  own  feeling 
as  to  what  was  right.  Only  sometimes  I  can't 
help  wishing  that  she'd  been  just  a  whit  less 
conscientious."  He  smiled  slightly,  repeating 
the  word :  " ' Conscientious'.'^  Do  you  know  that, 
though  we  never  lived  for  one  moment  together, 
she  still  considers  herself  my  wife.f^  Signing  the 
register  at  Joe  Lacrosse's,  she  began  to  write 
'Mrs.,'  as  though  she  balked  after  the  *M'  and 
left  it  unfinished,  she  still  wrote  down  my  sur- 
name." 

"And  conscientiousness  isn't  a  fault  in  a  wife," 
the  foreman  commented.  "Come  over  to  the 
stove  to  smoke." 

After  they  were  settled  he  sat  with  his  enor- 
mous hands  crossed  over  one  knee,  watching 
the  smoke  rise  in  blue  spirals  through  the  gold 
of  the  lamplight.  In  his  big  blue  eyes  were 
shadows  of  thoughts  that  have  puzzled  sage  and 
philosopher,  distracted  Church  and  State  for  a 
thousand  generations.  For  a  long  time  they 
raised  and  lowered,  and  when  at  last  he  gave 
his  thought  utterance  it  touched  as  closely  on 
the  crux  of  the  problem  as  any  deliverances  of 
more  learned  commentators  could  do. 

49 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"It's  a  queer  business,  this  sowing  of  wild  oats. 
I  know  how  you  feel — the  way  every  decent 
young  chap  ought  to  feel  when  he  measures  up 
his  imperfections  against  the  perfect  innocence 
of  a  well-raised  girl.  Yet — do  you  remember 
the  professor  that  came  with  your  father  to  the 
Matteawan  camp  to  study  our  end  of  the  lumber 
trade?  Well,  him  and  me  had  many  a  crack 
about  things  in  general  during  the  long  winter 
evenings,  and  among  others  he  touched  on  *wild 
oats.' 

"He'd  a  theory  that  civilization  hasn't  touched 
man's  instincts,  that  they  run  contrary  to  what 
he  called  'social  morals.'  According  to  his  way 
of  looking  at  it,  wild  oats  are  a  heap  more  natural 
than  tame  ones,  and  he  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  if  ever  the  race  arrives  at  the  point  where 
they  are  not,  there  won't  be  virility  enough  left 
for  it  to  reproduce  itself.  He  said  another  thing 
that  I've  seen  for  myself — that  sooner  or  later 
the  average  of  men  sow  a  wild  crop.  If  they 
don't  scatter  it  young,  they're  mighty  likely  to 
come  back  to  it  when  they  are  old.  I've  known 
lads  that  mealy-faced,  you'd  have  sworn  butter 
wouldn't  have  melted  in  their  mouths,  to  break 
out  at  forty  and  go  to  it  to  beat  all  hell  and  the 
preachers;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  if  they  start 
in  that  late,  they're  likely  to  keep  on  sowing  till 
the  land's  wore  out  and  the  devil  forecloses  his 
mortgage. 

"Not  that  I'm  holding  that  the  rules  should 
6Q 


CROSS    TRAILS 

be  relaxed.  It's  taken  thousands  of  years  to 
frame  'em,  and  without  them  marriage  would 
drop  into  a  go-as-you-please.  After  a  young 
chap  has  settled  down  with  his  little  wife  it's 
up  to  him  to  walk  straight  and  govern  himself 
according.  Only  if  he  has  made  a  slip  or  two  in 
the  past  it's  not  going  to  do  him  any  good  to  go 
brooding  about  it,  and  it  may  prove  a  hindrance. 
If  you  made  one  fool  of  yourself  that  time,  forget 
it — otherwise  it  will  act  like  a  drag  and  may  end 
by  pulling  you  clear  off  the  road.  Sure!  Forget 
it  and  brisk  up.    Now  that  she's  here — " 

"You  needn't  fear."  He  looked  up  quickly, 
for  strong  purpose  vibrated  in  the  other's  tone. 
Nodding,  the  Boss  went  on:  "I  put  it  behind  me 
over  a  year  ago.  As  you  say,  now  that  she  is 
here — it  won't  be  my  fault  if  she  gets  away." 

"It's  going  to  be  some  hard  to  keep  her."  A 
vivid  recollection  of  the  girl's  gesture  of  repul- 
sion produced  the  foreman's  comment.  "If  I  can 
be  any  help — " 

"Just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you."  Hazel 
eyes  snapping  with  the  urgency  of  his  hope,  he 
added:  "She  really  won't  be  fit  to  travel  for  a 
week  at  least.  But  if  I  try  to  tell  her  that,  she'll 
sure  put  up  a  fight.    But  if  you — " 

"Leave  it  to  me."  The  foreman  interrupted 
in  his  turn.  "I'll  undertake  to  keep  her  quiet 
for  about  two  weeks.  After  that — it  will  be  up 
to  you." 

"Up  to  me,"  the  other  echoed. 

51 


CROSS    TRAILS 

For  a  time  silence  fell  once  more  between 
them.  Rifting  down  through  a  blue  haze  of  to- 
bacco-smoke the  lamplight  showed  Ferrier's  face 
tinged  with  the  warmth  of  happy  reflections. 
For  some  minutes  the  hissing  kettle  and  crackling 
fire  had  it  all  to  themselves.  Then  the  foreman 
spoke: 

"There's  one  other  thing  to  think  of.  "What 
are  you  going  to  tell  to  the  camp.'^" 

"Nothing." 

The  other  nodded.  "It  won't  be  necessary. 
There's  not  going  to  be  a  pile  of  introducing. 
As  for  me,  I  know  nothing,  either.  Just  keep 
on  calling  her  '  Miss.' " 

"That's  the  idea."  Rising,  Ferrier  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  "Time  to  turn  in. 
It's  a  shame  that  I  kept  you  up  so  late." 

But  the  foreman  shook  his  head.  "I  haven't 
finished  my  smoke,  and  when  I  do  I  shall  roll 
right  in  with  the  cook.  He's  that  lost  to  the 
world  he'll  never  know  it  till  he  wakes  up.  You 
go  on,  for  there's  neither  locks  nor  bolts  on  the 
door,  and  I  wouldn't  feel  comfortable  to  know 
that  she  was  sleeping  there  alone.  But  don't 
wake  her,  and  to-morrow  we'll  rig  up  a  partition 
so's  she  can  be  real  private." 

After  the  door  closed  he  returned  to  his  pipe, 
and  the  reflection  that  inspired  his  sage  nod  at 
the  stove  ran  something  like  this:  "Don't  it 
beat  hell?  There's  some  that  sow  a  bumpe/ 
crop;  others  keep  right  on  seeding  and  get  away 

52 


CROSS   TRAILS 

with  it — live  and  die  respected.  And  here  a 
single,  solitary  wild  oat  comes  up  in  a  night  and 
twists  into  a  gin  that  trips  him  up  on  the  morning 
of  his  marriage.  Lordy !  lordy !  what's  the  use?" 
Later  a  shake  of  his  great  blond  head  expressed 
his  appreciation  of  the  girl's  will  and  character. 
"Jealous  French  and  iron  Scotch  flavored  with 
New  England.  But  the  Boss  is  no  kitten,  either. 
Humph!    It's  going  to  be  some  scrap." 


CHAPTER  V 

"  T  BELIEVE  that  you  are  plotting  to  keep 

X  me  here!    I  wonH  stay!" 

The  flash  and  flush  that  emphasized  Gabrielle's 
declaration  some  ten  days  later,  testified  more 
eloquently  than  her  words  that  the  "scrap"  of 
the  foreman's  prediction  was  on.  She  also 
stamped  her  foot.  But  besides  being  still  sensi- 
tive, the  member  was  now  incased  in  a  soft 
moccasin  and  arctic  sock — cut  down  by  the  fore- 
man's huge  but  skilful  fingers  from  the  smallest 
pairs  in  stock — and,  striking  hard  on  the  frozen 
mud  floor,  the  effect  was  nullified  by  her  sudden 
pained  "Ouch!" 

Her  anger  was  not  mitigated  by  the  sudden 
turn-about,  by  means  of  which  Ferrier  and  the 
foreman  sought  to  hide  their  grins.  Knowledge 
of  their  amusement  inflamed  her  to  further  de- 
fiance. "Mr.  Templeton  tells  me  that  Red  Dom- 
inique is  going  out  to-day.   I  shall  go  with  him." 

There  was  no  amusement  in  the  glance,  both 
sent  at  the  English  clerk,  nor  anything  com- 
plimentary. "Magpie!"  plus  a  few  adjectives, 
about  expresses  their  feeling;  to  which  Ferrier 
added,  in  thought,  "Why  didn't  I  warn  him?" 

54 


CROSS    TRAILS 

He  now  set  himself  to  rectify  the  error.  "He 
meant  that  Dominique  will  try  to  go  out.  It 
took  him  eight  days  to  come  in,  and  a  new  storm 
has  just  set  in.  Though  we  don't  feel  it  here  in 
the  sheltered  timber,  a  wild  blizzard  is  blowing 
outside.  Dominique  was  born  in  this  country, 
and  he  tells  me  that  only  once  before,  and  that 
thirty  years  ago,  has  he  seen  such  a  winter.  The 
trail  outside  is  buried  three  feet  deep,  and  it's 
a  gamble  whether  he'll  ever  get  through.  If 
he  does  it  will  be  only  after  enduring  hardships 
that  would  kill  any  woman.  I  simply  cannot 
let  you  go." 

"By  my  friends.'*"  While  answering  him  she 
looked  at  the  foreman,  a  custom  of  hers.  "The 
Byrons  are  expecting  me,  and  my  father  hasn't 
heard  from  me  since  I — " 

"Oh  yes,  he  has."  Ferrier  anticipated  the 
ending.  "I  sent  out  a  wire  by  Dominique  on  his 
last  trip.  And  the  Byrons  are  snowed  up  in 
Winnipegoos.  It  is  doubtful  whether  they  will 
get  another  mail  out  before  spring." 

But,  instead  of  appeasing,  his  forethought 
increased  her  irritation,  by  suggesting  the  impli- 
cation that  would  be  given  to  her  presence  there 
in  his  camp.  "If  I  don't  go  with  Dominique 
it  will  be  because  I  am  prevented." 

Issuing  the  ultimatum,  she  looked  him  squarely 
in  the  face.  Meeting  her  glance  just  as  squarely, 
he  made  steady  answer:  "If  you  do  it  will  be 
because  you  are  the  stronger." 

55 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Red  lips  compressed  into  a  thin,  scarlet  line, 
gray  eyes  black  as  their  dark  lashes,  she  main- 
tained her  gaze  till  the  dawn  of  admiration  be- 
hind the  cold  resolve  of  his  eyes  forced  her  to  a 
finish.  "You  mean  that?  You  will  keep  me 
by  force?" 

"I  will." 

"Very  well.  I  am  not  going  to  engage  in  a 
scuffle.  But  that  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  in 
my  feeling  I  am  being  held  here  from  this  mo- 
ment by  force.  But  let  me  tell  you" — it  may 
have  been  unintentional,  but  her  glance  wandered 
over  to  the  English  clerk — "you  will  be  sorry." 

His  expression,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  not 
particularly  joyous,  for  victory  in  this  clash  of 
wills  brought  no  fruits.  If  interpreted,  his  feel- 
ing would  have  run:  "I  couldn't  be  any  worse 
than  I  am."  Concealing  it  under  a  shrug,  he 
returned  to  the  list  of  stores  that  he  and  the 
foreman  were  preparing  for  Dominique.  Thus 
he  did  not  see  her  enter  the  little  bedroom  they 
had  partitioned  off  one  end  of  the  store.  When 
she  came  out  again  wearing  her  fur  cloak  and  a 
scarf  wound  about  her  neck  and  ears  he  glanced 
his  surprise. 

"Don't  be  afraid."  She  read  both  his  and  the 
foreman's  apprehension.  "I  am  not  so  silly  as  to 
try  and  walk  out.  But  if  I  have  to  stay  here  I 
must  begin  to  take  exercise." 

"But  you  don't  know  the  trails,"  the  foreman 
had.  already  begun,  when  Ferrier  nudged  him. 

56 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"If  you  will  wait  till  we  finish  this  list  I  shall 
be  glad — " 

"No,"  she  interrupted.  "I  heard  you  say 
last  night  that  you  would  be  unusually  busy 
to-day.  I  can  go  by  myself — or  if  Mr.  Temple- 
ton — "     She  glanced  at  the  clerk. 

"Go  on."  Ferrier  answered  the  young  fel- 
low's questioning  look,  and  as  the  door  closed 
on  the  pair  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Thank 
the  gods,  that's  over.  Before  she  gets  back  we'll 
have  Dominique  off.  Bacon,  you  said.'*  Looks 
as  though  we  might  be  snowed  in.  Better  order 
fifty  sides.  And  say,  wasn't  it  lucky  that  we  did 
the  bulk  of  our  teaming  on  the  first  snows.'*" 

As  the  foreman  did  not  answer  at  once,  he 
looked  up.  But  the  Norseman's  huge  bulk 
intervened  between  him  and  the  window,  so  he 
missed  a  little  play  that  was  being  enacted  out- 
side. Down  on  his  knees  in  the  snow  the  clerk 
was  tying  Gabrielle's  moccasin  strings.  The 
eyes  that  looked  down  upon  him  were  colder 
than  the  clerk's  freezing  fingers,  but  her  attitude, 
slightly  bent  over  as  if  in  eager  conversation,  so 
belied  their  frost  that  the  foreman  was  almost 
deceived.  Not  until  she  slipped  on  a  sideling 
curve  and  repulsed  with  a  gesture  almost  per- 
emptory the  clerk's  proffered  arm  did  he  gather 
the  motive.  The  laugh  he  smothered  in  his 
throat  accompanied  the  thought: 

"Missed  it  that  time,  little  lady." 

He  answered  aloud:  "Yes,  better  get  fifty 
5  57 


CROSS    TRAILS 

sides.  It  will  ease  her  nerves  to  get  out  in  the 
cold  air.  She'll  come  back  that  tired  and  hungry 
she'll  think  of  nothing  but  food  and  sjeep." 

He  guessed  aright.  After  ten  days  of  close 
confinement,  with  nothing  in  the  way  of  diver- 
sion but  the  bickerings  of  Swede  lumberjacks 
over  the  store  prices,  Gabrielle  found  the  motion 
and  bite  of  air  delightful.  Though  the  mercury 
thermometer  outside  the  store  had  gone  com- 
pletely out  of  business,  it  was  the  dry  cold  of  the 
arctic,  hardly  noticeable  as  long  as  she  kept 
moving;  and  if  the  snow  fell  steadily,  again  it 
was  the  frozen  snow  of  the  North,  fine  as  sifted 
salt — so  very  fine,  indeed,  that  it  hardly  obstructed 
vision,  merelj^  softened  the  outlines  and  invested 
with  mystery  the  black  cones  of  surrounding 
spruce.  While  outside  the  drift  was  driving 
along  in  a  blinding  white  flurry,  here  it  merely 
dusted  the  iced  trails  that  wound  like  twin 
snakes  through  the  forest.  Relieving  the  rigors 
of  the  prospect,  a  splash  of  red  would  flash  up 
at  the  end  of  some  vista  where  a  couple  of  men 
were  at  work,  bare-handed  and  stripped  to  their 
lumbermen's  shirts.  Then,  rising  above  the 
querulous  moan  of  the  wind  in  the  treetops, 
would  come  the  strident  groan  of  a  lumber-sled 
spaced  by  whip-crackings  and  the  driver's  cheer- 
ful curses.  From  the  top  of  a  load  piled  high  as 
a  house  he  would  look  down  upon  them  in  passing, 
his  red  face  looming  like  a  setting  sun  through 
the  steam  of  his  sweating  beasts.     Then  gradu- 

58 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ally  the  noise  would  die  down,  leaving  the  wind 
once  more  in  command  of  the  forest. 

"Jerusalem!  What  a  load!"  As  one  sled 
Went  creaking  by,  the  clerk  drew  her  attention  to 
its  massive  construction.  "They  are  seven  feet 
wide  between  the  runners,  with  eleven-foot 
bunkers.  Six  teams  couldn't  start  that  load  in 
raw  snow,  but  the  runners,  you  see,  are  rounded 
and  run  on  ice.  Every  night  we  run  a  watering- 
cart  along  the  trails.  It's  all  Nelson's  invention 
— sleds,  runners,  iced  tracks.  Mighty  clever,  too, 
don't  you  think.?" 

Though  not  particularly  interested  in  sleds, 
Gabrielle  had  developed  a  great  liking  for  their 
maker,  the  foreman,  and  she  set  forth  her 
opinion  with  no  uncertain  sound.  "I  think  he 
is  deary  so  enormous  and  strong,  yet  so  gentle 
and  kind." 

"'Gentle  and  kind'.?"  The  clerk  achieved 
the  variety  of  cachinnation  known  to  specialists 
as  the  "horse-laugh."  "Yes,  while  things  are 
going  all  right.  But,  taking  it  by  and  large, 
they  usually  aren't — especially  when  you  are 
working  Swedes.  I  don't  know  however  the 
Swede  got  his  mild  reputation.  In  books  they 
are  always  put  down  as  that.  But  as  a  matter 
of  fact  they  are  irritable  as  scorpions. 

"Just  the  week  before  you  came  Big  Ole  and 
Hans,  two  loaders,  raised  a  rumpus  about  the 
food,  which  was  good  enough,  and  you  ought 
to  have  been  here  to  see  Nelson  do  them  up. 

59 


CROSS    TRAILS 

They  are  whales,  both  of  them,  but  he  handled 
them  as  if  they  were  girls.  Kind  and  gentle?" 
He  repeated  the  laugh.  "x\nd  the  Boss.f^  He's 
no  chicken.  When  a  couple  of  the  other  loaders 
started  to  help  Ole,  the  Boss  jumped  right  in  and 
knocked  one  of  them  cold.  For  a  while  it 
looked  like  a  general  riot,  and  if  it  had  been  up 
to  your  humble  servant,  he'd  have  certainly  made 
tracks  for  a  gun.  But  they  quelled  it,  the  two 
of  them,  with  naked  fists." 

While  the  Homeric  narrative  dealt  with  the 
Norseman  she  had  glowed  gently.  Now  her 
eyes  outdid  the  snows.  "I  suppose  he  has  his 
share  of  animal  courage,"  she  answered,  coldly. 
"I'm  not  interested  in  fights.  Tell  me  about 
yourself.  How  in  the  world  did  a  man  of  your 
education  ever  come  to  be  in  a  lumber  camp.^^'* 

He  replied  with  diffidence  that  he  was  afraid 
that  she  would  not  find  it  very  interesting. 
But  of  diffidence  there  are  two  orders,  one  the 
natural  expression  of  a  modest  nature,  another 
which  springs  from  an  ego  so  pronounced  that  it 
shrinks  from  the  thought  of  underrating.  But, 
as  the  one  is  not  to  be  detected  from  the  other 
at  first  sight,  she  persisted  and  listened  with 
greater  interest. 

In  the  recital  was  nothing  unusual.  Stripped 
of  unessentials,  it  followed  the  usual  ineffective 
curve  of  the  English  remittance  man,  from  its 
beginnings  in  an  upper-class  boarding-school  to 
the  common  end  in  the  "Colonies."    In  all  of 

60 


^ 


CROSS    TRAILS 

them — Canada,  "the  Cape,"  New  Zealand,  Aus- 
traHa — it  has  been  sung,  the  helpless  saga  of  the 
"Younger  Son."  Debarred  by  family  impover- 
ishment from  the  bar  or  army,  natural  asylum 
for  aristocratic  incompetents,  inhibited  by  shoddy 
caste  ideals  from  trade  or  useful  labor,  its  mo- 
tive might  very  well  be  cast  in  the  language  of 
Scripture,  "Too  proud  to  dig,  to  beg  I  am 
ashamed" — providing  that  indiscriminate  bor- 
rowing be  excluded  from  the  catalogue  of 
mendicancy. 

Exiled  to  Canada  on  a  "keep-away  allowance" 
which  gradually  dwindled  to  nothing,  this  par- 
ticular specimen's  career  had  run  the  usual 
gamut  of  "remittance"  luck.  Farming,  store- 
clerking,  herding,  school-teaching,  he  had  tried 
them  all — more  correctly,  they  had  tried  him — 
and  he  was  still  brooding  over  his  discharge  from 
the  high  position  of  section  hand  on  a  gang  that 
ran  out  of  Winnipeg  when  Ferrier's  offer  of  a 
job  saved  him  from  that  last  refuge,  the  North- 
west Mounted  Police. 

"It  was  awfully  kind  of  the  Boss,"  he  con- 
cluded his  Jeremiad,  "for  you  know  I  was  flat 
broke  and  didn't  really  know  where  to  turn  for 
a  meal.'- 

But  if  she  had  known  of  the  real  pity  that 
Ferrier  had  felt  for  the  incapable  she  was  not  in 
the  mood  to  acknowledge  it.  "He  expected  to 
make  money  off  your  labor." 

"But  he  really  could  have  hired  much  more 

61 


CROSS    TRAILS 

capable  fellows.  Yes,  it  was  awfully  good  of 
him." 

Here  once  more  his  modesty  was  a  product  of 
incessant  browbeating  of  an  unkind  fate.  Never- 
theless, it  gained  him  a  few  more  points  in  her 
favor.  Neither  did  she  find  his  helplessness  re- 
pellent. Her  first  contact  with  the  species,  it 
appeared  to  her  merely  as  the  result  of  his  being 
wrongly  trained  and  worse  misplaced,  and  there- 
fore excited  her  sympathy  rather  than  contempt. 
Though  he  was  really  a  year  older  than  Ferrier, 
his  fresh  English  coloring  and  general  impracti- 
cability caused  him  to  appear  about  five  years 
younger.  Though  she  also  was  his  junior,  his 
helplessness  nevertheless  appealed  strongly  to  the 
maternal  instinct  beneath  her  girlishness. 

In  addition  to  all  this,  his  personality  carried 
for  her  all  the  sparkle  of  novelty.  Even  his 
accent,  with  its  drawled  tones,  she  liked,  and  the 
sense  of  racial  superiority  which  somehow  made 
itself  felt  through  his  humility  did  not  offend. 
Then,  he  knew  London  thoroughly  and  had 
traveled  on  the  Continent,  and  he  talked  quite 
well  of  the  shops  and  shows,  theaters  and  music- 
halls,  pride  and  vainglory  of  the  modern  Babylon 
and  other  metropolitan  cities. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  she  drew  him 
on,  or  that  while  he  talked  she  should  have  con- 
ducted a  stealthy,  but  none  the  less  accurate 
census  of  his  physical  attributes.  She  already 
knew  that  his  hair  was  brown  and  wavy  beneath 

62 


CROSS   TRAILS 

his  cap.  Now  she  took  closer  note  of  a  slightly 
aquiline  nose,  healthy  colors,  fine  white  teeth, 
slender  but  well-formed  body.  The  total  pro- 
duced in  her  a  pleasant  impression,  and,  though 
as  yet  it  was  not  sufficiently  strong  to  set  in 
motion  the  machinery  of  sex,  it  sat  very  well 
with  the  purpose  she  had  in  mind. 

Not  that  she  had  set  herself,  with  malice 
aforethought,  to  flirt  with  him.  But  she  did 
intend  to  honor  him  with  the  lion's  share  of  her 
company  and  attention  during  her  enforced  stay 
in  camp,  and  she  was  woman  enough  to  realize 
and  anticipate  with  a  touch  of  spite  the  probable 
reaction  upon  Ferrier.  Having  all  of  which  in 
her  feeling  rather  than  thought — she  might  have 
been  shocked  had  it  been  translated  in  crude 
words — she  studied  him,  as  aforesaid,  until,  after 
a  brisk  walk,  they  emerged  in  a  clearing  where  a 
force  of  men  was  at  work  "skidding"  logs. 

To  the  skidways  several  ox-teams  hauled  the 
logs  where  a  gang  of  loaders  stacked  them  in  piles 
for  the  sleds.  Though  it  lacked  only  a  point  or 
so  of  "forty  below,"  the  men  were  stripped  to  the 
undershirts,  and  as  with  furious  energy  they 
trundled  the  logs  along  the  "skids"  and  heaved 
them  up  into  place  their  hot  bodies  emitted  thin 
steam  which  condensed  into  glittering  drops  that 
froze  and  spangled  the  fluffy  woolens. 

"That's  Big  Ole,  with  the  yellow  curls.  Hans 
is  working  with  him.  The  fellow  handling  the 
cant-hook  is  the  one  the  Boss  knocked  out." 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Any  of  the  three  Templeton  pointed  out — for 
matter  of  that,  almost  any  one  of  the  loaders,  who 
were  all  picked  for  their  unusual  strength — might 
have  furnished  a  model  for  the  Farnese  Hercules. 
But  where  an  artist  would  have  gloated  over  their 
magnificent  proportions,  Gabrielle  was  repelled 
by  and  shrank  with  a  touch  of  fear  from  their 
animal  masculinity.  She  watched,  by  preference, 
the  laboring  ox-teams. 

One  team  of  old  "bulls"  in  particular  earned 
her  admiration  by  the  way  in  which  they  twisted 
and  doubled,  swung  and  backed,  finally  bringing 
their  log  out  from  a  veritable  labyrinth  of  stumps 
at  the  command  of  a  driver  who  stood  fully  fifty 
feet  away.  "  They  are  clever  and  nimble  as  cats  !'* 
she  exclaimed,  and,  though  feminine  interest  is 
not  usually  enchained  by  mere  physical  happen- 
ings, she  looked  eagerly  on  till  she  chanced  to 
catch  the  driver's  eye. 

Long  ago  a  sudden  translation  of  their  usual 
oaths  into  such  sweetnesses  as  "Oh,  sugar!" 
"My  heavenly  home!"  "Drat  the  beast!"  had 
marked  the  men's  sensibility  to  her  presence.  A 
run  on  the  store  had  already  obtained  for  the 
majority  a  fleeting  minute  in  which  to  bathe  in 
the  rare  feminine  atmosphere,  and  now  that  it 
was  to  be  obtained  without  money  and  without 
price,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  they  made 
best  use  of  the  opportunity. 

Had  she  looked  their  way  most  of  them  w^ould 
as  a  matter  of  course  have  governed  their  eyes. 

G4 


CROSS    TRAILS 

But,  unconscious  of  their  observation,  she  stood 
watching  the  oxen  till  reminded  of  it  by  the 
driver's  stare.  Apart  from  its  rudeness  she  was 
unpleasantly  affected  by  the  peculiar  red  lights 
that  gleamed  in  the  fellow's  eyes.  Then  as  the 
mean  cunning  of  the  entire  face  impressed  her 
consciousness,  memory  stirred,  she  knew  him  for 
one  of  the  three  men  who  had  caused  her  such 
embarrassment  on  the  Portage  street. 

In  the  past  two  weeks  her  hypersensitiveness 
had  been  almost  allayed  by  the  atmosphere  of 
quiet  respect  in  the  oflSce.  More  than  all  else 
had  the  gentle  consideration  of  the  giant  fore- 
man helped  to  cure  it.  But  now  it  flamed  out 
again.  Shivering,  she  loosened  her  cloak  with 
the  same  instinctive  motion  she  had  used  at 
Lacrosse's. 

"I'm  cold.    Let  us  walk  on." 

But  even  as  they  hurried  on,  she  felt  the  eyes 
following  and  touching,  plucking  like  miniature 
hands  at  her  cloak,  hands,  feet,  the  tendril  of 
hair  that  had  escaped  from  under  her  cap;  and 
in  her  agitation  she  walked  straight  on,  nor  re- 
membered that  she  would  be  exposed  to  the 
distressing  fire  of  eyes  coming  back  till  it  was  too 
late. 

"Yes,  we  can  go  home  another  way,"  the  clerk 
answered  her  question.  "I  had  intended  to  take 
it  in  any  case,  for  it  will  bring  us  past  a  fall  of 
logs  that  the  choppers  have  got  ready  this  morn- 
ing.    It's  on  a  hillside,  you  know.     They  cut 

65 


CROSS    TRAILS 

the  lower  trees  only  half  through,  then  when  they 
drop  those  on  top  they  knock  down  a  second 
tier,  the  second  a  third,  and  a  whole  section  of 
forest  comes  down  on  the  run.  It  is  something 
to  see." 

Very  shortly  they  heard  the  axes,  but  it  was 
nearly  half  an  hour,  before  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  choppers.  Following  in  a  circle,  they 
were  now  little  more  than  a  mile  from  camp. 
Thus  it  was,  that  going  straight  out  after  he  had 
despatched  Red  Dominique,  Ferrier  arrived  be- 
fore them. 

By  this  time  her  agitation  had  almost  subsided, 
but  shame  and  resentment  were  still  too  strong 
for  her  to  analyze  and  know  the  real  character 
of  the  feeling.  She  had  not  dreamed  how  much  of 
fear  there  was  in  it  till  she  caught  sight  of  Ferrier. 
Then,  in  spite  of  her  anger  against  him,  she 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  that  would  have  made 
her  more  angry  still  if  she  had  stopped  to  reason 
about  it.  Standing  to  one  side  behind  a  tree  that 
sheltered  her  from  further  offensive  observation, 
she  watched  him  wherever  he  went.  As  he 
moved  here,  there,  ordering,  directing,  capable 
and  self-contained,  the  interest  grew  in  her  look. 
Had  a  mirror  been  suddenly  thrust  before  her 
eyes  she  would  have  seen  even  a  leaven  of 
admiration.  Unaware  of  it,  however,  she  looked 
quietly  on  till  Templeton  spoke: 

"Capable,  isn't  he?" 

Startled,  she  turned.    Then,  realizing  that  the 

66 


CROSS    TRAILS 

remark  had  been  provoked  by  her  own  expression, 
she  blushed  with  chagrin.  "I  presume  so.  But 
he  rehes  a  good  deal  on  Mr.  Nelson,  doesn't  he?" 

"Oh,  but  he  could  do  without  him."  With 
that  British  obtuseness,  which  takes  out  of  ego- 
tism blind  to  all  but  itself,  he  repeated  it:  "Of 
course  he  could.  By  the  way,  you  and  he  have 
the  same  name — any  relation?" 

Turning  quickly,  she  hid  her  face,  flaming 
scarlet.  But  where  a  man  would  have  been 
paralyzed  she  answered,  quietly,  "Only  by 
marriage." 

"Oh,  I  see;  just  a  connection.  But  even  at 
that,  wasn't  it  a  coincidence  that  he  should  have 
picked  you  up  on  the  trail?" 

She  looked  quickly,  but  his  face  expressed  only 
mild  wonder.  She  replied  with  cold  composure, 
"Not  when  you  consider  that  I  was  on  my  way 
to  visit  a  mutual  friend." 

"So  that  was  it?" 

The  remark  showed  that,  if  unsuspicious,  he 
had  not  altogether  refrained  from  speculation. 
Irritated,  she  stood  ready  to  nip  further  examina- 
tion. But  it  was  unnecessary.  A  warning  crack, 
and  Ferrier's  sharp  shout,  "You,  Svenson,  get 
out  of  the  way!"  brought  the  conversation  to  a 
natural  end. 

Fully  five  minutes  ago  he  had  ordered  the 
sawyers  who  were  working  on  the  middle  tiers 
of  trees  to  leave,  and  all  but  one,  a  wooden-headed 
young  Swede,  had  obeyed.     Though  he  had  all 

67 


CROSS    TRAILS 

of  time  and  eternity  in  which  to  retrieve  the 
wedges  he  had  left  behind,  nothing  would  suit 
but  that  he  should  go  back  and  get  them  now. 
When  Ferrier  shouted  his  warning  the  spruce 
along  the  crest  of  the  hill  was  already  curving 
over  like  a  great  dark  comber.  Its  line  extended 
nearly  a  hundred  yards  each  way,  so  far  that 
even  a  quick  dash  could  hardly  have  carried  the 
man  from  under.  But  instead  of  trying  it  he 
hesitated,  looked  one  way,  the  other,  finally 
stood,  apparently  hypnotized,  staring  up  at  the 
falling  trees.  Hands  clutched  under  her  chin, 
Gabrielle  was  gazing  at  him  in  horror  when 
Templeton  suddenly  burst  out: 

"  My  God !    Look  at  the  Boss !" 

Nerves  and  muscles  strung  with  the  super- 
human power  that  is  born  of  extremity,  the  man 
was  shooting  down -hill  with  long  leaps  that  lifted 
him  out  and  over  the  snow.  Passing  the  second 
tier  just  as  the  first  struck  and  hurled  it  over, 
he  beat  it  to  the  third.  Svenson  was  now  moving 
slowly  sideways,  his  eye  glued  to  the  arc  of  a 
single  tree,  blind  to  the  half-dozen  others  that 
were  converging  upon  him;  and,  leaping  right 
down  upon  him,  Ferrier  upset  and  carried  him 
on  down  with  the  force  of  his  rush. 

Simultaneously  with  the  clerk's  cry  a  hoarse 
shout  had  risen  above,  to  be  drowned  the  next 
second  by  the  first  crash.  ,  Gabrielle's  scream  of 
horror  was  drowned  by  the  second.  Just  before 
the  two  went  down  under  a  welter  of  huge  trunks, 

68 


CROSS   TRAILS 

broken  limbs,  threshing  branches,  she  got  a  vivid 
glimpse  of  their  faces,  the  one  stupid,  red,  con- 
fused; Ferrier's  set  hard,  lips  drawn  in  a  straight 
line,  eyes  cold  with  purpose.  Like  the  flash  of 
a  single  picture  in  a  cinematograph  she  caught 
them  before  the  huge  black  wave  flowed  on  over 
them  to  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

In  ten  seconds  it  passed.  Where  a  stately  for- 
est had  reigned  in  solitary  gloom,  white  snow- 
light  now  fell  over  a  wrack  and  ruin  of  tumbled 
trees. 

That  any  person  could  be  under  it  and  live 
was  inconceivable.  Pale,  aghast,  yet  no  stiller 
than  the  line  of  choppers  on  top  of  the  hill, 
Gabrielle  stood  staring,  rooted  to  the  spot,  till 
the  inconceivable  came  to  pass.  For  out  of  a 
thick  lacing  of  spruce  foliage  two  heads  emerged. 
Ferrier's  voice  broke  the  dead  silence: 

"Never  touched  us.  There's  a  bit  of  a  gully 
down  here,  and  I  knocked  the  damned  fool  into 
it." 

Struggling  out,  his  eye  fell  for  the  first  time 
on  Gabrielle,  unfortunately,  for  it  would  have 
served  him  better  not  to  have  seen  her.  Had  he 
been  killed  outright  or  stricken  insensible  the 
profound  horror  that  held  her  still  and  mute 
would  have  evolved  into  definite  conscious  feel- 
ing, and  she  would  have  known  just  where  she 
stood.  But  it  passed  too  quickly.  While  the 
horror  still  gripped  her  heart  and  brain,  his  red 
head  came  popping  out  of  the  snow  with  sudden- 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ness  that  produced  an  anti-climax.  Through  vas 
relief  she  was  conscious  of  a  touch  of  the  ludicrous 
Though  the  impulse  was  undoubtedly  hysterica] 
she  wanted  to  laugh,  and  it  was  at  this  particula 
unfortunate  moment  that  their  eyes  met. 

If  he  were  conscious  of  it  he  could  scarcel; 
have  repressed  a  natural  interrogation.  But  i 
was  too  late  now  for  him  to  see  how  she  had  takei 
it.  He  met  only  a  glance  of  cold  resentment,  an( 
the  next  second  she  turned  to  the  clerk. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  camp." 


t 


CHAPTER  VI 

FLUSHED  with  gladness  and  relief,  the  clerk 
had  started  forward.  He  now  paused,  after 
his  puzzled  glance  had  traveled  from  her  to 
Ferrier  and  back  again,  then  followed  her  along 
the  trail.  But  if  astonished  at  her  coldness  his 
Saxon  insensibility  to  the  moods  of  others  pre- 
vented him  from  feeling  for  its  cause.  While 
they  were  walking  back  to  camp  he  discussed  the 
incident  with  enthusiasm  that  almost  drove  her 
mad. 

For  under  her  apparent  coldness  heaved  and 
whirled  a  maelstrom  of  feeling,  contradictory, 
chaotic.  Shivering  with  horror  one  moment,  as 
she  pictured  the  trees  breaking  down  over  the 
two  men,  she  would  be  swept  the  next  by  a 
swirl  of  anger  when  she  remembered  the  interro- 
gation in  Ferrier's  eyes.  The  two  feelings  pos- 
sessed her  in  turn,  or  mingled  with  others  in  a 
confused  whirl.  Above  all  things  just  then  she 
desired  solitude,  and  when  the  cook  called  to 
her  from  the  door  of  his  sanctum  as  they  entered 
the  camp  she  hailed  the  interruption  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  In  fact  she  cut  off  the  clerk  with  a 
suddenness  that  left  him  astonished. 

71 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"I — I  haven't — offended  you?"  he  called  after 
her,  as  she  moved  on  to  the  cook-house. 

"No."  She  gave  him  the  real  reason.  "lam 
upset — wish  to  be  alone." 

The  means  of  gratifying  her  wish  presented 
themselves  one  minute  later  through  the  mouth 
of  the  cook.  Dropping  into  the  office  just  after 
she  left,  he  had  drawn  the  attention  of  Ferrier 
and  the  foreman  to  a  matter  which  their  bachelor 
ignorance  had  caused  them  to  overlook. 

"  'Tis  the  fine  pair  yez  are,"  he  accused  them. 
"Here's  the  poor  little  girl  nigh  two  weeks  in 
camp  an'  niver  enough  brains  between  ye  to 
figure  out  that  she  might  be  wanting  to  do  a 
little  wash  for  herself." 

Being  elected  on  the  spot  to  remedy  the  over- 
sight by  reason  of  his  position  and  experience 
as  husband  and  father,  he  now  produced  said 
remedy  with  kindly  frankness  that  left  her  quite 
at  ease.  "  If  'twas  me  own  gurrl  I'd  be  sp'aking 
the  same,  so  ye're  not  to  be  minding  me  at  all, 
at  all.  After  the  noon  meal  there's  nivir  a  sowl 
in  the  cook-house  till  five  o'clock.  So  if  there's 
anny  bits  av  things  ye'd  be  liking  to  wash,  here's 
fire,  water,  an'  a  washboard,  with  the  place  to 
yourself  for  the  whole  afternoon." 

To  her  great  relief,  Ferrier  did  not  appear  at 
lunch,  for  he  had  gone  down  to  the  river  to  over- 
see a  break  in  a  piece  of  trestlework  that  carried 
the  iced  trail  across  a  small  gorge;  and^  though 
two  choppers — who  had  come  in  late — added  to 

72 


CROSS    TRAILS 

her  distress  by  talking  to  the  cook  about  the 
morning's  affair,  it  was  still  easier  to  bear  than 
Ferrier's  presence.  And  the  foreman,  with  in- 
tuitive delicacy  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  his 
enormous  bulk,  helped  her  by  steering  the  con- 
versation to  other  things.  Nevertheless,  despite 
his  kindness,  she  sighed  her  relief  when  he  went 
out,  and  the  cook  and  his  helpers  also  departed 
to  take  their  usual  siesta  in  the  teamsters'  bunk- 
house. 

Till  then  her  thoughts  had  been  whirling  in 
vague  snatches  like  gnats  through  a  mist  of  dis- 
tress. But  there  is  nothing  like  action  for 
clearing  the  mind,  and  while  she  rubbed  and 
scrubbed  and  hung  her  pieces  to  dry  over  the 
stove,  the  surplus  blood  flowed  from  her  brain 
into  her  muscles,  mental  confusion  gave  place  to 
orderly  thought.  What  did  she  think?  The 
cold,  clear  lights  that  shine  from  the  face  of 
death  are  fatal  to  illusions,  and  though,  with  that 
feminine  perversity  which  defies  both  law  and 
reason,  she  hastily  wrapped  them  up  in  fresh 
husks  of  self-deception,  she  obtained  several 
clear  glimpses  of  truth.  Whereas,  for  instance, 
she  had  denied  and  redenied  that  Ferrier  could 
ever  be  "anything  to  her  again,"  his  narrow 
escape  had  filled  her  with  palpitant  horror;  and 
when  she  tried,  as  she  did,  to  set  this  perturba- 
tion to  the  score  of  humanity,  honesty  forced  her 
to  confess  that  the  memory  of  the  Swede's  peril 
left  her,  unshaken. 

6  73 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Plainly  the  case  had  to  be  reopened  in  the 
court  of  her  conscience.  If  he  was  "something 
to  her"  still,  there  was  nothing  left  for  it  but  to 
decide  his  exact  status.  So  she  went  at  it,  and 
while  the  arguments  pro  and  con  whirled  back 
and  forth,  subject  to  the  stern  rulings  of  con- 
science, she  learned  among  other  things  that 
Ferrier's  condemnation  was  not  based  altogether 
on  the  highly  moral  grounds  she  had  sought  to 
found  it.  From  whatsoever  angle  she  studied  it 
she  found  herself  looking,  in  the  end,  not  at  the 
case,  but  into  the  dark,  handsome  face  of  Susanne 
Viguier.  And  whenever  this  happened,  reason 
fled,  her  thought  relapsing  into  the  original  chaos. 
Always  the  investigation  ended  with  a  mental 
cry,  "I  cannot,  I  will  not  forgive  him!" 

She  was  restating  this  vigorous  conclusion  for 
the  fortieth  time  when  the  door  opened  and 
Ferrier  entered.  Her  back  was  toward  him,  and, 
as  the  hollow  sound  of  her  rubbing  dominated 
the  pad  of  his  moccasins,  she  was  not  aware  of 
his  presence  until  a  current  of  frosty  air  struck 
her  warm  neck.  Though  scarcely  two  seconds 
elapsed  before  she  looked  around,  he  had  yet 
time  to  take  in  the  pretty  picture  of  domesticity 
she  presented,  with  sleeves  rolled  above  white 
elbows,  dress  open  and  tucked  low  about  her 
smooth  neck,  all  accentuated  and  illumined  by 
the  flush  of  exertion  that  had  deepened  her 
usually  delicate  color.  A  ravel  of  hair  that  fell 
in  a  web  of  gold  around  glossy  brown  coils  com- 

74 


CROSS    TRAILS 

pleted  a  picture  that  would  have  passed  any- 
where for  contented  young  wifehood  at  its  daily 
toils.  Perhaps  it  recalled  for  him  some  visioning 
of  the  happy  days  preceding  their  marriage. 
Wistfulness  looked  out  of  his  eyes  when,  after 
a  hesitant  pause,  he  closed  the  door. 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  were  here."  He 
spoke  apologetically.  "I  have  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  breakfast,  and  was  foraging  for  grub." 
Then,  ignoring  her  glance  at  the  shelves,  where 
bread  and  meat  and  lumberman's  cake  stood, 
a  serried  array,  he  added,  "But  since  you  are 
here  I  should  like  to  say  a  word." 

Without  answering  she  rested  one  white  hand 
on  the  edge  of  the  tub  and  looked  at  him.  In- 
terpreting the  tacit  assent,  he  went  on: 

"First  of  all,  I  want  to  draw  your  attention  to 
the  fact  that  it  was  not  my  fault  that  you  got 
yourself  lost  on  the  trail.  Second,  that  in  bring- 
ing you  here  I  was  following  the  same  dictates 
of  humanity  and  good  sense  that  would  have 
animated  me  had  you  been  a  Cree  squaw.  Some 
people  might  say  that  you  owed  me  a  little 
gratitude,  but  1 11  pass  that  and  go  on.  You 
were  a  witness  of  what  happened  this  morning, 
and  you  will  admit  that  it  was  a  narrow  shave — 
so  narrow  that  the  difference  of  a  second  of  time 
or  a  foot  in  space  would  have  left  you  a  widow 
and  my  father's  heiress." 

She  opened  her  mouth  to  reply,  but  he  an- 
ticipated  the  objection   that  trembled   on  her 

75 


CROSS    TRAILS 

tongue.  "No,  he  would  not.  Not  only  is  the 
old  dad  possessed  in  full  by  the  old  rigid  Pres- 
byterian hatred  for  divorce,  but  he  cherishes 
a  great  tenderness  for  you.  In  spite  of  our 
separation  you  stand — I  was  going  to  say  next 
to  me  in  his  affection,  but  I  might  almost  put 
it  first,  for  he  holds  me  altogether  in  blame. 
Had  I  been  killed  you  would  have  inherited  all 
that  he  owns." 

*'  Well.?"     She  filled  in  his  pause. 

"This  being  the  case,  seeing  that  you  have 
taken  no  steps  toward  divorce,  also  that,  besides 
owing  me  your  own  life,  you  stand  to  profit 
immensely  by  the  loss  of  time,  don't  you  think 
I  might  claim  at  your  hands  the  ordinary  civilities 
you  accord  to  strangers  .f^" 

"Haven't  I— been  civil.?" 

"Not  unless  you  call  silence  and  complete 
avoidance  civil.  When  it  is  necessary  for  me  to 
address  you  it  is  not  pleasant  to  have  you  reply 
to  another." 

"But  do  you  wonder  at  it?  Instead  of  sending 
me  back  to  the  Portage,  so  that  I  could  return 
to  Winnipeg  by  train,  you  brought  me  on  here, 
where  I  am  compelled  to  endure  your  presence. 
Also  you  refused  to  let  me  go — " 

"Because  it  would  have  endangered  your  life — 
just  as  it  would  if  I  had  been  fool  enough  to  send 
you  back  to  the  Portage.  That  was  the  hardest 
blizzard  I  ever  saw.  It  was  a  toss-up  at  times 
whether  we  should  ever  gain  the  shelter  of  the 

76 


CROSS    TRAILS 

woods.  Out  in  the  open  we  should  all  have 
perished." 

"I  would  have  been  perfectly  willing  to  take 
the  chance — both  then  and  to-day,"  she  went  on, 
commenting  upon  his  previous  statement.  "If 
I  have  taken  no  steps  toward  divorce  it  is  merely 
because  I  dreaded  the  scandal  in  the  first  place; 
in  the  second,  our  marriage  is  broken  more 
completely,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  than  it 
could  ever  be  by  law.  If  you  think  that  I  would 
profit  by  your  death  you  are  again  very  much 
mistaken.  I  should  refuse  to  inherit,  or,  if  the 
law  forced  your  father's  property  upon  me,  I 
would  give  it  away" — her  gray  eyes  turned  pure 
black  while  her  red  lips  pouted  in  scorn — "to  a 
foundling  asylum." 

"  That  was  hardly  necessary."  Reproach  shad- 
owed his  tone,  and  had  he  let  it  go  at  that  he  would 
have  been  the  gainer.  She  was  already  sorry  for 
the  sarcasm.  Resentment  leaped  again  in  her  eyes 
when  he  went  on,  "You  know  how  bitterly  I 
repented,  and  I  have  lived  straight  ever  since." 

"You  have  lived  straight.  Oh,  have  you.'^ 
Well,  so  have  I." 

Standing  there,  erect,  in  bright-eyed  rebellion, 
cheeks  mantling  with  the  clean  blood  of  virginal 
youth,  the  assertion  of  personal  purity  seemed 
ridiculously  superfluous.  It  was  so  astoundingly 
unnecessary  that  he  could  not  repress  an  amused 
smile.  "You?  Why,  you  couldn't  do  anything 
else  if  you  tried." 

77 


CROSS    TRAILS 

He  had  better  have  left  it  unsaid,  for  her  asser- 
tion was  the  protest  of  the  woman  against  the 
dual  standard  to  which  he  had  unconsciously 
appealed,  the  social  law  that  would  have  damned 
in  her  that  which  it  would  have  excused  in  him. 
Instead  of  appeasing,  his  faith  merely  fed  her 
anger. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't.^*"  She  had  taken  her  hand  off 
the  tub,  and  she  seemed  to  swell  and  grow  taller 
as  the  tide  of  her  bitter  reflections  burst  at  last 
from  its  bounds.  "It  is  merely  your  man's 
egotism  makes  you  think  so.  In  the  last  year  I 
have  had  ample  opportunity  for  thought,  and 
some  of  my  conclusions  would  have  appeared 
wicked  to  my  old  self,  the  foolishly  innocent  self 
that  I  was  till  you  destroyed  my  peace.  Ever 
since  the  beginning  of  time  your  sex  has  domi- 
nated and  denounced,  preached  and  drummed  it 
into  mine,  that  none  but  a  wicked  woman  could 
possibly  feel,  much  less  entertain,  love  for  any 
other  than  her  legal  husband.  But  it's  a  lie! 
All  women  know,  too,  that  it  is  a  lie!  They  may 
and  do  hide  the  knowledge  from  each  other,  the 
weak  souls  may  even  stifle  it  in  themselves,  but 
in  the  secrecy  of  their  own  hearts  they  know  right 
well  that  there  is  room  in  a  woman's  love  for  more 
than  one  love — sometimes  for  more  than  one  at  a 
time.  They  have  been  taught  to  suppress  it. 
They  do  hide  it  for  fear  of  the  consequences 
that  follow  discovery.  Nevertheless  it  is  there. 
Many  a  husband  who  takes  his  wife's  blameless 

78 


CROSS    TRAILS 

chastity  as  a  tribute  to  himself  would  be  sur- 
prised if  he  could  get  a  peep  sometimes  into  her 
inner  thought — I  mean  good  wives,  at  that. 
Between  what  the  world  calls  a  good  man  and  a 
good  woman  there's  not  one  iota  of  difference. 
Both  have  had  their  temptations  and  were  strong 
enough  to  surmount  them — only  from  ages  of 
practice  under  fear  of  punishment  the  woman 
does  it  as  a  matter  of  course  and  gets  no  credit  for 
it.  Or  if  there  is  any  difference,  it  is  in  the 
quality  rather  than  the  quantity  of  their  loves. 
Before  a  woman  gives  herself,  love,  real  love  that 
is  woven  into  the  fiber  of  her  mother  instinct, 
must  first  be  roused.  It  is  only  man — and  the 
beasts — that  give  themselves  cold." 

She  had  swept  on  to  the  scornful  conclusion. 
While  he  stood,  too  astonished  to  frame  an 
answer,  she  continued:  "So  do  not  deceive  your- 
self. Into  the  life  of  every  woman  some  man 
comes  at  some  time  to  stir  as  deep  or  deeper  feel- 
ing than  that  which  she  has  for  her  husband. 
She  conceals  it  from  him,  sometimes  from  her- 
self. Nevertheless,  it  is  there.  Like  all  young 
girls,  I  was  fitted  out  with  the  usual  set  of  chalk- 
and-china-white  ideals,  but  they  are  not  made 
to  wear.  With  some  they  last  longer  than  others, 
may  even  outwear  a  few  insipid  natures.  Mine 
were  smashed  at  one  blow,  and  since  then  I  have 
had  time  to  think  and  find  out  for  myself  the 
real  nature  of  things.  So  do  not  feel  too  sure  of 
me.     When  the  man  comes  who  can  stir  me — 

79 


CROSS    TRAILS 

why  shouldn't  I   follow   your  excellent  exam- 
ple?" 

He  was  standing,  as  aforesaid,  stricken  silent 
by  the  outburst,  too  utterly  astonished  for 
speech.  At  all  times  she  was  pretty.  Now  her 
flashing  emotion,  the  brilliance  of  her  anger, 
raised  her  comeliness  to  a  high  order  of  beauty. 
He  felt  it  keenly,  too,  the  more  keenly  because 
his  past  idealization  of  her  had  excluded  sex  from 
his  love.  And  he  responded  with  a  primal  im- 
pulse that  urged  to  seize  and  tame  her,  crush  at 
once  her  body  and  will.  It  registered  itself,  that 
furious  impulse,  in  the  purpose  that  leaped  like  an 
animal  from  ambush  into  his  strong,  square  face. 
The  next  instant  he  controlled  it.  But  so  powerful 
it  was,  so  plainly  revealed,  that  she  stepped  back, 
and  was  not  astonished  by  his  quick  reassurance: 

"I'm  not  going  to.     Don't  be  afraid." 

"You  had  better  not."  Her  answer,  too,  con- 
veyed full  knowledge. 

"Why  shouldn't  you  follow  my  example?" 
Recovering,  he  returned  to  her  question.  After 
a  pause,  he  restored  with  reverent  fingers  the 
roseate  veils  she  had  rudely  torn  away,  with  a 
reply  formed  by  the  idealism  that  blinds  the  sons 
of  men  whenever  they  contemplate  the  nature  of 
woman.  "Simply  because  you  could  not.  The 
very  supposition  is  ridiculous.  But  we  have 
wandered  from  the  subject.  Returning — don't 
you  think  that  I  have  earned  ordinarily  civil 
treatment  at  your  hands?'* 

80 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"Certainly."  She  conceded  it  at  once.  "If 
I  have  been  rude  I  am  sorry." 

"Thank  you." 

Turning,  he  helped  himself  to  bread  and  meat 
from  the  shelf,  was  making  again  toward  the 
door  when  she  called  after  him,  "Don't  let  me 
drive  you  out  in  the  cold." 

Content,  however,  with  even  so  slight  a  con- 
cession, he  did  not  care  to  jeopardize  it.  "  Thanks, 
but  there's  a  fine  fire  in  the  office.  I  shall  eat 
there." 

While  walking  across  to  the  office,  he  released  a 
smile  that  he  had  held  in  ambush  for  fear  of 
affording  further  offense.  "Follow  my  example. 
It's  funny,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  sigh — "or 
would  be  if  the  consequences  weren't  so  damned 
tragic." 

The  idea  would  have  appeared  even  less  hu- 
morous could  he  have  obtained  just  then  a 
glimpse  into  her  thought:  "Could  I?"  She 
asked  it  of  herself,  while  slowly  wringing  out  a 
skirt.  Her  eyes  glowed  dangerously  above  a 
ripple  of  mischief  when  she  answered:  "One 
never  knows  till — one  is  tried.  Perhaps — under 
the  proper  provocation." 


CHAPTER  VII 

WERE  some  immortal  being  to  revisit  the 
earth  in  cycles  of  a  thousand  years  he 
would  find  one  thing  unchanged.  While  races 
come  and  go,  dynasties  and  civilizations  disappear, 
customs  and  manners  change,  the  familiar  sight 
of  men  sitting  around  a  fire  when  darkness  falls 
over  the  earth  still  remains. 

In  the  camp  office  that  night,  said  immortal 
would  have  felt  very  much  at  home.  The  wide 
chimney  and  hearth — built  after  the  Cree  fash- 
ion, of  mud  plastered  upon  a  green  willow  woven 
frame — the  dark  log  walls  chinked  with  clay  and 
moss,  heavy  sod  roof  laid  on  poplar  poles,  might 
have  belonged  to  the  house  of  some  Saxon  thane 
in  dark  English  woods.  The  shelves  for  the  goods, 
supported  by  pegs  driven  into  the  logs,  the  wood- 
en hinges  and  sneck  on  the  door,  floor  of  frozen 
earth,  all  belonged  to  that  old  age. 

Of  the  four  sitting  around  the  fire,  the  giant 
foreman,  with  his  viking  head,  Ferrier,  and  the 
clerk  in  moose-skins  and  moccasins,  properly  be- 
longed in  the  picture.  Gabrielle  alone  was  alien 
to  it — not  so  much  in  her  dress,  for  the  fur  cloak 
she  was  wearing  over  her  shoulders  in  lieu  of  a 

82 


SHE    WAS    REALLY    WONDERFtTL,    SITTING    THERE    BY    A    LUMBERMAN  S    FIRE, 
LOCKED    BY    DEEP   SNOWS   IN   THE   HEART    OF   CONTINENTAL    WOODS 


CROSS    TRAILS 

shawl  made  a  presentable  imitation  of  the  wolf- 
skin robe  of  a  Saxon  maid — but  in  the  face,  the 
quivering  sensitiveness,  the  lively  intelligence  of 
it,  which  had  required  ages  to  develop  from  the 
soft  animality  of  primitive  woman. 

Viewed  under  the  illuminations  of  history,  she 
was  really  wonderful,  sitting  there  by  a  lumber- 
man's fire,  locked  by  deep  snows  in  the  heart  of 
continental  woods.  Through  her,  a  daughter  of 
modernity,  crown  and  flower  of  the  evolutionary 
process,  was  expressed  in  clear  thought  the  dim 
desire  and  feeling  of  generations  of  women  dead 
and  gone.  For  the  lights  that  lifted  and  lowered 
in  her  gray  eyes  were  produced  by  feeling  that 
was  born  with  Eve  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  Their 
sparkle,  when  her  glance  happened  to  touch  Fer- 
rier,  expressed  resentment  at  the  immemorial 
wrongs  of  her  sex. 

Unconscious  on  his  part  that  he  was  being 
made  into  a  target  for  the  slings  and  arrows  of 
all  time,  Ferrier  smoked  his  evening  pipe  with 
placidity  born  of  his  content  at  certain  small  ci- 
vilities Gabrielle  had  accorded  him  at  supper. 
Though  it  was  by  no  means  obtrusive,  this  quiet 
satisfaction  of  his  was  just  then  the  worst  of 
misdeameanors,  and  it  was  aggravated  by  the 
soft,  almost  shy  reverence  of  his  occasional 
glances.  The  more  vividly  because  of  their  per- 
fect unconsciousness,  they  reaffirmed  the  stained- 
glass-angel  point  of  view  toward  her  sex  he  had 
expressed  that  afternoon,  than  which  nothing 

83 


CROSS    TRAILS 

can  be  more  irritating  to  a  healthy-minded  hu- 
man woman.  By  no  means  the  first  or  last  wife 
in  domestic  history,  she  blazed  inwardly,  and 
longed  with  an  intense  longing  to  do  something 
that  would  shock  him  out  of  his  assurance. 

"We  are  to  be  marble  till  you  breathe  into  us 
the  breath  of  life?"  her  thought  ran.  "Then 
lapse  again  to  stone  at  your  pleasure?  Body 
and  soul  we  are  to  be  bound  up  in  you?  From 
the  cradle  we  are  ordained  to  be  your  single  crea- 
ture, and  not  even  in  thought  must  our  glances 
stray?  And  to  think!  But  for  Susanne  I  should 
probably  have  gone  on  believing  it." 

Leaping  under  fresh  fuel  thrown  on  by  the 
clerk,  the  fire  lent  a  ruddy  tinge  to  the  mutiny 
that  flashed  up  in  her  eyes.  From  Ferrier  her 
glance  went  to  the  clerk,  and  while  she  quietly 
watched  him  the  mutiny  became  spiced  with 
mischief.  "Won't  you  please  tell  me  more  about 
London?"  she  asked. 

The  clerk  looked  dubiously  at  the  foreman 
and  Ferrier.  "I  was  afraid  that  I  had  bored  you 
to  death  this  morning,  and  they — might  not  be 
interested." 

The  foreman,  who  was  cutting  down  a  second 
pair  of  moccasins  to  Gabrielle's  size,  looked  up. 
"Go  ahead,  sonny,  I'd  like  it." 

"Sure!"  Ferrier's  assent,  however,  was  quali- 
fied by  a  shrug.    "I  can  stand  it." 

"You  see?"  But  though  he  demurred  it  re- 
quired only  a  little  skilful  questioning  on  Ga- 

84 


CROSS    TRAILS 

brielle's  part  to  get  him  started,  and,  once  going, 
he  poured,  mixing  description  of  the  theaters, 
shows,  parks,  and  shops  with  anecdotes  of  celeb- 
rities that  were  really  entertaining.  More  than 
once  the  foreman's  deep  laugh  rumbled  across 
the  hearth,  and  after  a  while  Ferrier  threw  in 
an  occasional  remark.  The  clerk  would  un- 
doubtedly have  arrived  at  an  honorable  con- 
clusion if  he  had  not  tacked  a  reflection  upon 
the  colonies  on  to  a  panegyric  that  set  forth  the 
glories  of  old  England. 

"Over  there" — he  sighed — "one  lives.  Here 
one  merely  subsists." 

"Not  always,"  Ferrier  dryly  commented.  "I've 
seen  a  good  many  of  your  countrymen  that  didn't." 

It  fell  like  a  dash  of  water  on  the  clerk's  heat. 
But  if  he  winced  he  still  retorted  with  spirit: 
"Exactly,  my  dear  fellow,  but  I  doubt  whether 
some  of  you  lumbermen  would  do  any  better  if 
you  had  to  fish  for  a  living  in  London.  If  we 
find  it  hard  to  get  along  here,  that  is  because 
we  were  not  trained  for  it." 

"What  were  you  trained  for?" 

It  was  a  hard  question,  but  the  clerk  met  it 
with  a  frank  concession.  "Nothing.  But  I 
wasn't  talking  of  remittance  men.  Granted  that 
we  are  a  lot  of  useless  beggars,  we  are  not  Eng- 
land. Barring  us  out,  you'll  have  to  admit  that 
in  all  that  really  counts — trade,  shipping,  wealth, 
political  prestige — she  stands  at  the  head  of  the 
world." 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"But  I  don't." 

"You  don't?"  Templeton's  brows  rose  at  the 
heresy.  "But,  man,  look  at  her  glorious  his- 
tory—" 

"That's  of  the  past;  come  to  the  present. 
Who've  you  licked  in  the  last  thirty  years?  A 
few  Afghans  and  demoralized  Egyptians.  You 
bet  machine-guns  and  long-range  rifles  against 
clubs  and  spears,  and  then  don't  always  win. 
Why,  a  Zulu  tribe  without  a  gun  to  its  name 
wiped  out  one  of  your  crack  regiments  not  so 
very  long  ago." 

He  paused  to  enjoy  the  clerk's  horror.  In 
India  a  certain  young  Mr.  Kipling  had  just 
appointed  himself  "Drum  Major  of  Imperial- 
ism," and  was  strenuously  beating  the  "tattoo 
that  follows  the  sun  around  the  world."  His 
"Recessional,"  with  its  note  of  prophecy  that 
would  find  fulfilment  in  the  Boer  War,  was  yet 
unsounded.  For  a  colonial  to  attempt  to  match 
countries  with  the  "Empire"  transcended  pre- 
sumption, rose  almost  to  sacrilege.  But  on  the 
two  occasions  Ferrier  had  visited  England  with 
his  father,  he  had  seen  and  judged  for  himself. 
Now  he  went  on  to  set  forth  the  very  conclusions 
that  Kipling  would  be  driven  to  accept  in  a 
very  few  years. 

"I've  seen  a  little  of  your  country  myself — 
enough  to  judge  of  the  misery  and  squalor,  hun- 
ger, frightful  poverty,  that  form  a  rotten  founda- 
tion for  its  superficial  pomp  and  power.     No, 

86 


CROSS   TRAILS 

I'm  not  going  altogether  on  your  slums."  He 
denied  the  clerk's  interruption.  "I've  seen  also 
your  half-starved  country  bumpkins  and  the 
puny,  undersized  peoples  of  your  manufacturing 
towns,  and  just  as  surely  as  a  stream  cannot  rise 
any  higher  than  its  source  so  a  nation  cannot 
rise  far  above  the  general  average  of  its  people. 
If  you  doubt  what  I  am  saying  consider  the 
physical  standard  required  for  enlistment  in  your 
army.  Five  feet  three  inches  in  height,  thirty- 
two  and  a  half  inches  chest  girth — a  measurement 
that  can  be  filled  out  by  the  average  thirteen- 
year-old  boy  in  any  Canadian  school — and  even 
at  that  you  can't  get  men  enough  to  fill  up  your 
regiments  of  the  line.  If  ever  you  get  into  a  real 
war — with  Germany,  for  instance — you'll  be 
whipped  out  of  your  boots." 

While  she  listened,  Gabrielle's  colors  had 
gradually  kindled,  and  now  she  rushed  to  the 
clerk's  defense.  "Size  is  no  measure  of  courage, 
nor  bulk  necessary  for  straight  shooting." 

"The  bigger  the  man,  the  easier  he's  shot." 
The  foreman  backed  her  up,  as  always.  "See 
what  a  mark  I'd  make." 

But  the  clerk  hardly  required  the  encourage- 
ment. With  the  upper-class  Englishman's  hered- 
itary scorn  for  the  lower  orders,  he  waved  away 
Ferrier's  argument.  "The  army.^^  The  off- 
scourings of  the  nation,  fit  only  to  be  food  for 
powder.  The  sooner  it  is  blown  off  the  face 
of  the  earth  the  better  for  the  nation.     After 

87 


CROSS    TRAILS 

that  you'll  see  the  real  men  step  into  the 
breach." 

"Yet  it  is  your  army,"  Ferrier  pressed  him. 
"The  first  line  of  defense  between  you  and  the 
German.  After  it  is  gone  your  volunteers  will 
be  easy  money."  With  a  little  more  gentleness 
he  turned  to  answer  Gabrielle.  "Littleness  does 
measure  courage  when  it  is  the  product  of 
starvation.  You  can't  enfeeble  the  body  with- 
out sapping  the  spirit,  and  that  is  exactly  the 
condition  of  the  masses  of  England.  And  the 
middle  classes  are  not  much  better.  In  all  the 
world  there  is  nothing  so  utterly  servile  as  your 
English  shopkeeper.  He'll  put  a  permanent 
crick  in  his  back  to  sell  you  six  pennorth,  and 
take  a  kick  with  a  farthing's  profit.  What  I  hold 
is  this — all  the  worth  of  England  has  been 
drained  into  her  colonies  years  ago,  and  there  is 
nothing  left  but  a  hollow-sounding  shell  to  mur- 
njur  of  past  greatness.  In  all  that  is  really 
.worth  while — strength,  courage,  natural  ability, 
sterling  independence — she  is  away  behind  us." 

"All  physical  qualities — or  closely  associated 
with  them."  The  clerk  returned  to  the  charge. 
"I'll  admit  that  in  those  you  do  outclass  us;  but 
after  all  it  is  mind  that  rules.  Where  are  your 
statesmen,  your  writers  and  artists,  your  singers, 
poets.?" 

"Everything  in  its  season.  We  have  not 
ripened  sufliciently  for  that.  A  touch  of  rotten- 
ness seems  to  be  necessary  for  their  production, 

88 


CROSS    TRAILS 

and  we  shall  come  to  it  soon  enough."  Resum- 
ing his  pipe,  he  fired  a  last  shot:  "I'll  admit,  on 
my  side,  that  we  could  use  a  few.  I  wish  they'd 
mix  in  a  selection  with  the  next  remittance 
batch." 

This  was  not  the  end.  With  the  inability  to 
comprehend  defeat  which  Napoleon  observed 
and  cursed  in  the  English  at  Waterloo  the  clerk 
returned  to  his  guns,  pouring  in  broadsides  of 
facts,  figures,  historical  citations,  in  reply  to 
Ferrier's  curt  sarcasms.  In  fact,  the  wordy  war 
continued  till  the  foreman  brought  a  pause  by 
ordering  a  "try-on"  of  the  new  moccasins. 
When  Gabrielle  thrust  forth  her  foot  for  inspec- 
tion, hostilities  were  suspended,  while  all  three 
admired  both  the  glovelike  fit  and  few  inches  of 
shapely  ankle  that  escaped  the  jealous  guard  of 
her  skirt.  Before  they  could  fall  to  again,  the 
foreman  stretched  his  great  limbs  with  a  yawn. 

"Bedtime  for  young  ladies,"  he  growled,  with 
pretended  ferocity.  "You  fellows  can  finish 
to-morrow." 

"Won't  be  necessary."  Ferrier  grinned. 
"There's  nothing  left  of  old  England." 

Even  if  his  cause  had  been  lost,  the  clerk  was 
still  a  gainer,  for  as  he  moved  toward  the  door 
Gabrielle  called  after  him,  "Never  mind,  Mr. 
Templeton,  I  believe  all  that  you  said."  And 
deeper  consequences  were  to  follow.  Whereas, 
until  that  morning  the  clerk  had  been  no  more  in 
her  sight  than  any  other  cog  in  the  camp  machin- 

7  89 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ery,  the  cause  they  had  made  together  against 
Ferrier  estabhshed  between  them  a  connecting 
link,  one  that  was  greatly  strengthened  w^hen, 
on  her  return  from  breakfast  next  morning,  he 
handed  her  a  couple  of  books. 

"Keats  and  Rossetti,"  he  explained,  half 
apologetically.  "I'm  rather  fond  of  them  my- 
self, and  I  stuck  them  in  my  bag  when  I  came 
up  here.  I  thought  you  might  like  to  look  them 
over." 

They  were  really  a  godsend,  for  she  loved 
poetry,  and  after  Ferrier  and  the  foreman  had 
gone  to  the  woods  she  coiled  up  on  a  pile  of  furs 
in  a  snug  corner  by  the  fireplace  and  fell  at  once 
to  reading,  while  the  clerk,  taking  advantage  of 
her  preoccupation,  studied  her  at  his  leisure. 

Neither  was  the  study  altogether  one-sided. 
In  response  to  the  verses  which  she  sometimes 
read  aloud  the  clerk's  face  would  light  up  while 
his  eyes  softened  and  enlarged  till  they  were  almost 
feminine.  When  he  moved  from  his  rough  desk 
to  the  shelves  to  serve  the  smith  with  tobacco 
his  rough  heavy  moleskins  could  not  altogether 
smother  the  slender  grace  of  his  figure. 

"He  will  make  some  girl  a  nice  lover,"  was  her 
inward  comment,  but  in  passing  it,  she  did  not 
realize  that  she  had  unconsciously  pronounced 
him  desirable  for  herself;  that,  in  the  language 
of  the  Scriptures,  "he  had  found  favor  in  her 
sight."  Not  being  conscious  of  it,  she  pursued 
her   investigations   along   other   lines,    through 

90 


CROSS    TRAILS 

criticism  and  comment  on  her  reading,  and  dis- 
covered that,  Hke  most  upper-class  Englishmen, 
he  possessed  the  wide  reading  and  culture  which 
in  the  Western  world  is  a  monopoly  almost  fem- 
inine. Yet  all  these  communings  and  observa- 
tions proceeded  without  actual  thought,  so  natu- 
rally that  she  never  realized  how  quickly  they 
were  moving  toward  intimacy  till  just  before 
noon  she  heard  Ferrier's  voice  outside.  If  she 
had  expected  to  provoke  his  jealousy  she  was 
doomed  to  utter  disappointment,  for  he  addressed 
her  with  quiet  indifference. 

"If  you  care  to  walk  this  afternoon  Templeton 
can  go  with  you." 

It  was  assuredly  provoking,  and  lacking,  just 
then,  means  of  retaliation,  she  visited  her  secret 
wrath  upon  the  clerk,  whose  quick  smile  be- 
trayed his  hope.  "Thanks,  but  Mr.  Nelson 
promised  to  take  me  down  to  the  river  some  time. 
I  heard  him  say  last  night  that  he  might  go  there 
to-day." 

She  could  have  bitten  off  her  tongue  the  next 
minute  when  he  answered:  "Something  else 
turned  up.  I  am  going,  instead.  If  you  would 
like  a  drive  I'll  hitch  the  ponies." 

She  ached  to  say  no,  but,  while  it  trembled 
upon  her  tongue,  she  remembered  his  question 
of  yesterday:  "Don't  you  think  that  I  have 
earned  ordinary  civility  at  your  hands?"  Obey- 
ing a  contrary  impulse,  she  accepted — and  went. 

During  dinner  and  while,  later,  she  was  putting 

91 


CROSS    TRAILS 

on  her  things  she  chided  herself  for  accepting. 
But  it  was  done,  and  she  disdained  the  usual 
feminine  excuse — a  headache.  When  she  stepped 
into  the  sleigh  beside  him  the  high  color  and  gay 
sparkle  that  showed  between  her  fur  collar  and 
cap  made  a  passable  imitation  of  pleasurable 
excitement.  They,  were,  however,  produced  by 
rank  rebellion  at  the  thought  of  being  tucked  in 
with  him  for  a  whole  afternoon. 

For  some  little  time  after  they  started  she 
fumed  and  fretted.  Had  he  made  any  attempts 
at  conversation  just  then  it  would  surely  have 
precipitated  an  explosion.  She  would  have 
jumped  at  a  chance  to  turn  back.  But  a  happy 
intuition  kept  him  silent  till  the  merry  clash  of 
sleigh-bells,  smooth,  swift  motion  through  dark 
woods,  white  lakes,  still  glades,  had  worked  their 
soothing  effect.  When  at  last  he  did  speak  it  was 
in  a  quiet  vein,  wherein  interesting  bits  of  in- 
formation alternated  with  humorous  comments 
on  incidents  connected  with  his  work.  So  in- 
teresting, indeed,  did  he  make  it  that  a  full  hour 
slipped  away  before  she  realized  with  a  start 
that  she  was  enjoying  herself. 

Consciousness  of  it,  of  course,  revived  her 
vexation.  She  sternly  refused  thenceforth  to  be 
either  amused  or  edified.  Nevertheless,  she 
found  it  quite  difficult  to  fan  the  coals  of  her  an- 
ger, and  when  finally  he  reined  in  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  she  forgot  all  about  herself  in  sudden 
awe  at  the  magnitude  of  his  work. 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Between  the  snow-clad  banks  some  three  mil- 
lion cubic  feet  of  lumber  in  the  log  lay  in  waiting 
for  the  spring  floods  that  would  carry  it  on  down 
to  Lake  Manitoba,  across  which  it  would  be 
rafted  down  to  the  mills.  She  had  heard  before 
leaving  home  that  Ferrier  had  been  "staked" 
by  his  father  to  conduct  some  lumbering  enter- 
prise in  the  Northwest  on  his  own  account.  In 
one  of  many  little  talks  the  foreman  had  told 
her  of  the  rapidly  growing  market  for  lumber 
products  in  the  "Territories";  with  almost  any 
old  kind  of  luck  Ferrier  stood  to  make  a  small 
fortune  on  this  single  venture.  But,  though  she 
had  not  doubted,  "seeing  is  believing."  The 
huge  black  piles  that  filled  the  river-bank  high  for 
half  a  mile  of  its  length  compelled  respect  that 
she  would  never  have  accorded  to  mere  words. 
Looming  in  a  light  flurry  of  snow,  their  black 
bulk  drove  in  some  idea  of  the  forethought  and 
figuring,  not  to  mention  the  preparatory  work 
entailed  by  the  building  of  a  camp  in  the  heart 
of  the  woods  seventy  miles  from  the  railroad,  or 
the  immense  amount  of  teaming  required  to 
provision  it  with  hay  and  grain  for  sixty  horses 
and  almost  twice  as  many  men. 

Looking  down  on  it  all,  she  found  it  quite 
easy  to  accept  the  foreman's  prophecy:  "He'll 
be  a  bigger  man  than  his  father,  for,  look  you,  he 
not  only  begins  where  the  old  man  leaves  off, 
but  the  times  offer  larger  opportunities.  This 
Northwest  is  going  to  be  covered  in  a  few  years 

93 


CROSS   TRAILS 

with  millions  of  farm-houses  and  thousands  of 
towns.  He  will  supply  the  lumber  to  build  them. 
Some  day  he'll  be  king  of  the  Canadian  woods." 

Also,  she  found  herself  sharing  the  respect 
which  the  three  "unloaders"  accorded  his  terse 
directions  for  the  "dumping"  of  the  next  day's 
loads — wherein  she  followed  the  natural  femi- 
nine instinct  to  admire  power,  whether  of  mind 
or  muscle,  which  has  guided  the  woman's  choice 
of  a  mate  throughout  the  ages.  Going  home, 
too,  she  came  under  the  influence  of  another 
feeling,  one  so  subtle,  intangible,  and  which 
gained  upon  her  so  gradually  that  she  did  not 
divine  its  real  nature  till  they  had  almost  ar- 
rived at  the  camp. 

Both  coming  and  going  they  had  passed  indi- 
vidual teamsters,  and  twice  Ferrier  had  reined 
in  to  give  a  direction  to  gangs  at  work.  But, 
whereas  she  had  shrunk  from  the  fire  of  glances 
while  under  the  clerk's  escort,  now  she  did  not 
mind  them.  And  it  was  not  because  they  were 
less  frequent  or  intense.  It  would  have  been 
unnatural  if  a  man  of  them  had  neglected  his 
chance.  But  in  place  of  the  fear  and  timidity, 
the  burning  shame  of  yesterday,  she  found  her- 
self returning  the  stares  with  frigid  indifference. 
Unconsciously  she  was  giving  full  play  to  the 
feminine  instinct  for  protection.  Her  scornful 
assurance  would  have  fitted  just  as  easily  the 
woman  of  a  caveman,  who  felt  herself  perfectly 
safe  from  attack  by  less  powerful  members  of 

94 


CROSS   TRAILS 

the  tribe.  She  had,  as  aforesaid,  been  in  placid 
enjoyment  of  the  feeHng  for  a  long  time  before 
she  awoke  to  knowledge  of  its  nature.  Then, 
startled,  she  blushed  and  burned  as  she  realized 
that,  however  much  she  tried  to  hate  him,  she 
still  felt  perfectly  safe  in  his  presence. 

It  was  a  humiliating  discovery,  j  The  sting 
of  it  burned  like  a  frost-bite,  lent  ice  to  her  thanks 
when  he  dropped  her  at  the  oflSce.  His  courteous 
answer,  "The  pleasure  was  mine,"  merely  ag- 
gravated his  offense,  for,  try  hard  as  he  might 
and  did  to  conceal  it,  his  expression  still  be- 
trayed his  hope  that  the  afternoon  had  brought 
them  a  little  nearer. 

"He  thinks  it  a  step  toward  reconciliation," 
she  told  herself .    "Well,  I'll  show  him." 

It  was  this  idea  that  instigated  her  attempt 
to  revive  last  night's  argument  as  they  sat  around 
the  office  fire  that  evening.  But  this  time  Fer- 
rier  balked,  would  have  none  of  it.  So  far  as  he 
was  concerned  the  subject  was  talked  out.  While 
with  care  and  craft  she  drew  the  clerk  on  to  con- 
verse of  his  beloved  England  Ferrier  puffed 
quietly  at  his  pipe.  The  only  time  he  spoke  was 
to  pass  some  remark  concerning  the  morrow's 
work  to  the  foreman.  Finally,  noticing  a  volume 
of  Tennyson  face  downward  on  the  table,  where 
she  had  laid  it,  he  picked  it  up  and  began  to  read. 

"A  pose!"  she  scornfully  pronounced  it. 

But  when  half  an  hour  later  she  saw  that  his 
pipe  had  gone  out  she  felt  less  sure.     He  was 

95 


CROSS    TRAILS 

still  reading  when  she  retired,  and  both  while 
she  was  undressing  and  after  she  lay  in  bed  the 
"chit!  chit!"  of  turning  leaves  floated  over  the 
top  of  the  partition. 

The  thought,  "I  never  knew  that  he  liked 
poetry,"  testified  to  her  change  of  opinion  con- 
cerning the  pose.  She  was  now  quite  sleepy — 
indeed,  gently  dozing — wherefore  her  animosity 
was  not  sufficiently  alive  to  cause  her  alarm  at 
the  gentle  pleasure  she  took  in  the  thought. 
Adding  itself  to  her  new-born  respect  for  his 
achievements,  it  made  powerfully  in  his  favor. 
In  her  dreamy  state  the  past  had  almost  van- 
ished, and  in  another  moment  she  would  have 
slipped  away  with  him  into  real  dreamland. 
But  just  as  she  hesitated  on  the  border  the  face 
of  Susanne  was  projected  into  her  vision,  and 
she  sat  up,  wide  awake. 

After  that  the  rustle  of  the  leaves  became  an 
additional  aggravation.  Withal,  they  continued 
to  space  the  crackle  of  the  fire,  the  sough  of  the 
wind  in  the  chimney,  till  a  voice  of  bells  floated 
in  from  outside.  So  interested  was  he  in  his 
reading  that  they  had  risen  to  a  clash  before  he 
closed  the  book.  Followed  the  creak  of  the  door, 
and,  with  the  sudden  stoppage  of  the  bells.  Red 
Dominique's  voice  drifted  in  on  a  blast  of  cold 
air: 

"It  ees  of  no  use.  Boss.  On  snow-shoes  one 
might  do  it,  but  horses — nevaire!" 

A  bunk  now  creaked  under  the  force  of  the 


CROSS    TRAILS 

foreman's  leap,  and  she  caught  the  heavy  thud 
of  his  stockinged  feet  as  he  landed  and  ran  to  the 
door.  Ensued  a  rumble  of  conversation,  then 
the  bells  clashed  out  again  as  Dominique  drove 
on  to  the  stables.  Returning  inside,  Ferrier  and 
the  foreman  talked  for  a  while  in  whispers. 
Though  she  could  not  hear,  a  certain  tense 
gravity  in  the  tones  caused  her  a  feeling  of  in- 
definite apprehension.  Presently  their  voices 
rose,  and  she  caught  in  conclusion  two  sentences 
that  were  destined  to  be  fixed  in  her  mind  by 
following  events : 

"It  is  getting  serious." 

"Yes;  we'll  have  to  warn  the  cook  to  econo- 
mize to  the  limit,  and  if  the  storms  don't  let  up 
the  men  will  have  to  be  put  on  rations." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  an  unusual  winter.  All  over  the  vast 
white  face  of  the  Northland  the  great  spread 
of  the  Dakotas,  Manitoba,  Keewatin,  Alberta,  the 
incessant  sweep  of  the  snows  mocked  the  puny, 
antlike  operations  of  man.  For  days  trains 
would  be  "stalled"  on  both  the  Canadian  and 
American  trunk-lines,  and  when  freed  by  power- 
ful snow-plows  would  crawl  on  a  few  miles,  to  be 
snowed  up  again.  For  weeks  a  thousand  towns 
and  villages  were  cut  off  from  all  communication 
with  the  outside  world. 

By  certain  erudite  scientists  the  severity  of 
the  winter  was  ascribed  to  malignant  "sun- 
spots."  But  coming  a  little  closer  home,  its 
cause  might  be  found  in  the  excessive  heat  of 
an  antipodean  summer.  The  steaming  vapors 
raised  by  a  torrid  sun  from  equatorial  seas  were 
herded  northward  by  persistent  south  winds,  to 
be  condensed,  and  fall,  in  the  snows  that  cut  the 
camp  off  from  the  railroad.  Or  did  the  wind 
change  and  rush  back  in  an  icy  draught  to  the 
equatorial  oven,  then  it  picked  up  the  last  loose 
snows,  mixed  and  churned  them  in  familiar 
fashion  and  hurled  them  southward  in  a  great 


CROSS   TRAILS 

blank  sheet.  In  either  event,  using  the  vivid 
slang  of  the  day,  they  "got"  Red  Dominique 
"going  or  coming,'*  but  in  spite  of  the  failure  of 
his  two  previous  attempts  he  was  to  be  seen 
hitching  for  a  third  try  some  days  later. 

When  Dominique  drove  round  to  the  office 
Ferrier  was  still  inside,  writing  out  an  authoriza- 
tion for  him  to  hire  men  and  teams  to  bring  in 
supplies.  Though  the  camp  had  been  provisioned 
in  the  beginning  far  beyond  immediate  needs, 
stocks  of  both  meat  and  flour  were  running 
dangerously  low.  Yet,  great  as  was  Ferrier's 
anxiety  over  the  situation,  it  did  not  stop  him 
from  noting  an  unusual  phenomenon.  Though 
Gabrielle  had  raised  a  small  riot  at  each  of 
Dominique's  previous  departures,  this  time  she 
had  not  said  a  single  word.  Apparently  unin- 
terested, she  bent  over  one  of  a  dozen  cheap 
novels  which  the  foreman  had  gleaned  for  her 
from  the  camp. 

The  key  to  the  contradiction  was  to  be  found 
in  her  remark  to  the  clerk  just  before  Ferrier 
came  in:  "It  is  no  use  to  ask;  they  wouldn't  let 
me  go."  Significantly  she  added,  "But  if  Dom- 
inique does  go  through — " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  would  try 
and  walk  it?"  the  clerk  had  asked.  To  which 
she  had  quietly  answered,  "No,  I  won't  walk  it." 

Unaware  of  this,  Ferrier  stole  a  glance  at  her 
over  the  top  of  his  letter;  at  least  he  had  in- 
tended to  steal  one,  but,  safeguarded  by  her 

99 


CROSS    TRAILS 

absorption  in  her  reading,  the  glance  presently 
evolved  into  an  appreciative  stare.  Whether  it 
was  due  to  the  early  hours,  plentiful  sleep,  plain 
food,  and  general  wholesome  life  of  the  camp, 
or  to  some  obscure  psychological  cause,  she  had 
greatly  improved  in  her  looks.  Her  added  color, 
the  lustrous  gray  of  her  eyes,  the  rich  gloss  of 
her  hair — these  were  the  product  of  perfect 
health.  Undoubtedly  she  had  reached  the  per- 
fection of  her  blooming. 

Watching  her,  Ferrier  trembled  so  that  his  pen 
shook  off  a  blot  on  the  paper,  and  the  intensity 
of  his  longing  for  her  vented  itself  in  an  inward 
cry,  "Will  she  never  forgive.^"  Perhaps  through 
the  very  intensity  of  his  feeling  he  had  become 
of  late  strangely  sensitive  in  her  presence. 
Warned  by  some  peculiar  intuition  that  she  was 
about  to  look  up,  he  dropped  his  eyes  back  to  his 
letter,  signed  and  sealed  it,  then  went  out,  and 
so  missed  the  question  that  was  written  quite 
plainly  upon  her  face: 

"I  wonder  what  he  thinks." 

Glancing  around  before  she  returned  to  her 
book,  she  met  the  gaze  of  the  clerk,  who,  from 
the  corner  where  he  was  rearranging  some  goods, 
had  made  equally  good  use  of  his  eyes.  Though 
he  turned  away  instantly,  she  yet  read  again  in 
their  softness  the  secret  she  had  divined  for  her- 
self some  days  ago — the  clerk  was  in  love.  She 
recognized  it  with  a  feeling  of  guilt,  for  since 
the  evening  they  made  common  cause  against 

100 


CROSS    TKAIES 

Terrier  they  had  progressed  gradually  toward 
intimacy. 

"It  is  all  my  fault,"  she  now  told  herself.  "If 
I  had  taken  no  notice  of  him  it  might  never  have 
happened.    I  suppose  that  I  ought  to  tell  him." 

She  had  her  marriage  in  mind,  but  the  thought 
never  passed  into  an  intention,  for  in  the  moment 
of  its  conception  she  lulled  doubt  to  rest  with  the 
specious  plea:  "Oh  well,  what  if  he  does — like 
me?    There  can  be  no  harm  if  I  am  careful." 

In  this  she  was  not  altogether  sincere,  for  the 
statement  entirely  ignored  certain  danger  signs 
in  herself.  It  was  perfectly  natural  for  her  to 
feel  pleasure  at  the  young  fellow's  admiration. 
But,  consciously  and  unconsciously,  his  helpless- 
ness made  a  persistent  and  powerful  appeal  to 
the  maternal  instinct  which  is  the  foundation 
of  every  woman's  love.  When,  as  had  happened 
many  days  ago,  her  small  titillations  of  vanity 
became  tangled  with  pity  and  genuine  liking, 
she  approached  dangerously  near  to  the  border 
line  of  love. 

Just  how  close  she  stood  to  it  is  shown  by  an 
incident  that  had  occurred  the  previous  evening. 
Coming  back  to  the  camp  from  a  walk,  their  way 
had  lain  up  a  small  hill,  the  face  of  which  had 
been  transformed  by  heavy  sledding  into  a 
mask  of  ice.  Heated  by  exercise,  they  had  both 
removed  their  mittens,  and  when  the  clerk  sud- 
denly thrust  out  his  hand  to  save  her  from  slip- 
ping their  palms  joined  in  a  firm,  warm  clasp. 

101 


CROSS  TRAILS 

It  was  the  match  to  powder,  the  wind  to  flame. 
Not  daring  to  look  at  him,  talking  excitedly, 
she  scrambled  on  to  the  top  where,  she  thought, 
he  would  merely  let  go  her  hand.  But  he  did 
not,  and  they  walked  on  hand  in  hand  till  a 
sudden  curve  brought  them  into  full  view  of 
three  teamsters  at  one  of  the  skids.  One  chanced 
to  be  the  red-eyed  ox-driver,  and  his  stare  helped 
to  shock  her  back  to  herself.  Having  regained 
her  control,  she  had  taken  care  not  to  lose  it 
again.  But  now  in  a  milder  degree,  that  inter- 
cepted glance  had  raised  a  second  riot  in  her 
blood. 

After  Ferrier  went  out,  the  clerk  returned 
to  his  desk,  but  did  not  write  any  more  than  she, 
a  few  feet  away,  read.  With  alarm  that  was 
curiously  mingled  with  expectation  she  noted 
the  absence  of  the  pen's  scratching.  How  long 
that  silence  endured  she  could  never  have  said. 
Like  church-bells  at  a  distance,  the  merry  clang 
of  anvil  and  hammer  came  drifting  over  from 
the  blacksmith's  shop,  punctuated  at  intervals 
with  the  groan  of  a  passing  sled.  But  all  these 
were  external,  foreign  to  her  pulsing,  delicious 
feeling.  A  clap  of  thunder  would  have  aroused 
her  less  than  did  the  sudden  stir  of  the  clerk. 

Through  the  single  pane  that  now  kept  al- 
ways clear  of  frost  he  had  seen  the  foreman 
approaching,  but  in  her  ignorance  of  this  her 
mind  leaped  to  a  dread  possibility:  "Oh,  sup- 
pose he — speaks!" 

102 


CROSS    TRAILS 

In  sudden  fright  she  jumped  at  the  first  means 
to  head  him  off,  and — landed  out  of  the  pan  into 
the  fire.  "If  you  are  not  too  busy  I  should  like 
to  go  for  a  walk." 

"Fine!    I  was  only  trying  to  kill  time." 

His  alacrity  convinced  her  of  her  mistake,  and 
while  putting  on  her  wraps  she  condoned  alarmed 
conscience  with  the  specious  plea:  "If  he  does 
speak  I  shall  tell  him." 

As  she  came  out,  muffled  in  her  furs,  the  fore- 
man entered,  and  just  as  Ferrier  and  the  clerk 
had  been  stricken  by  her  clear,  vivid  beauty,  so 
he  also  stood  looking  down  upon  her,  silent, 
contemplative.  "Anything  the  matter  with 
me.'^"  She  broke  the  spell  with  a  saucy  interro- 
gation. 

With  the  development  of  the  paternal  relation 
established  at  their  first  meeting  had  come  a 
friendly  license  in  speech.  "Well,  well!"  His 
big  laugh  boomed  through  the  place.  "Of  all 
the  pretty  girls  that  ever  I  saw — " 

"Come,  come!"  she  checked  him.  "I  shall  be- 
come a  monster  of  vanity  if  I  listen  any  longer 
to  you  and  the  cook." 

"Yes,  don't  listen  to  the  cook,"  he  agreed, 
laughing.  "He's  a  gay  deceiver.  Going  for  a 
walk?  Well,  see  that  Jack  Frost  doesn't  steal 
any  more  kisses.    It  is  pretty  cold  outside." 

But  under  his  cheerful  acquiescence  lay  the 
doubt  that  shadowed  his  face  while  he  watched 
them  going  down  the  trail.    "They've  been  get- 

103 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ting  pretty  thick  of  late."  His  thought  explained 
the  shadow.  "It  used  to  be  that  you  could  hear 
her  chatter  all  over  the  camp,  but  there  was  never 
a  mutter  this  morning  during  the  whole  hour  I 
was  in  there  with  the  smith.  I  thought  at  first 
she  was  just  using  him  to  rub  the  skin  off  the  Boss. 
But  that's  always  a  dangerous  game.  It  looks 
now  as  though  she  was  liking  him  a  bit  for  him- 
self." 

Shaking  his  head,  he  went  out  again  after  they 
had  disappeared  and  walked  over  to  the  cook- 
house, where  he  found  the  cook  just  turning 
away  from  his  own  particular  spy-hole  in  the 
frost  of  a  window.  Thrusting  a  huge  ladle  into 
a  giant  caldron  of  soup,  the  cook  proceeded  to 
stir  thoughtfully  while  unbosoming  himself  upon 
the  very  subject  of  the  other's  reflections.  Nod- 
ding toward  the  window  he  demanded:  "Say! 
Phwativer  is  the  Boss  thinking  av  these  days.''"    ; 

Though  he  knew  very  well  what  was  meant,  the 
foreman  affected  ignorance.  "Well,  what  is  he 
thinking  of.?" 

"Arrah,  come  off!"  The  cook  called  the  little 
"bluff."  "Ye  well  know  phwat  I'm  m'aning. 
I'd  like  to  give  him  just  wan  crack  with  the 
ladle  for  letting  that  remittance  man  cut  him  out 
wi'  that  girl." 

"Mebbe  the  Boss  don't  want  her!"  Sure  that 
something  lay  behind  the  other's  wrath,  the 
foreman  drew  him  on. 

"Then  the  more  av  a  fool  him!     Pretty,  eddi- 

104 


CROSS    TRAILS 

cated,  an'  that  sweet  ye  don't  need  sugar  in  the 
tay  ye  drink  with  her,  she's  the  very  bit  the 
Lord  Almighty  carved  out  for  a  foine  upstanding 
lad  Hke  him.  If  he  can't  see  it  may  the  devil 
take  him!" 

He  fell  to  stirring  the  soup  with  such  vigor  that 
the  foreman  was  now  assured  that  something  of 
importance  had  inspired  his  wrath.  Again  he 
led  on,  "You  think  she  likes  the  clerk?" 

"  'Tis  the  talk  av  the  camp.  When  a  couple 
go  marr-rching  with  the  two  hands  av  them 
locked  it  doesn't  take  a  prophet  to  say  they're 
not  hating." 

"Hands  locked.^"  Genuine  surprise  drew  it 
out  of  the  foreman. 

The  cook  nodded.  "  They  were  seen  last  night 
be  three  av  the  min." 

"And  they  are  talking  about  it,  heigh?" 
f  "They  are  50."  He  rapped  the  spoon  forcibly 
on  the  edge  of  the  pot.  "An'  a  damn  sight  too 
freely !  That  red-eyed  divil  of  a  teamster  began 
it  last  night  at  the  supper.  'If  the  Boss  don't 
look  out  he's  going  to  lose  his  fancy  woman!* 
he  bawls  it  out,  free  as  that,  with  fifty  av  the  min 
at  the  table." 

The  foreman  swore.  Red  with  anger,  he  was 
beginning,  "And  did  you  let — "  when  the  cook 
stopped  him. 

"You  bet  I  did  not!  *Ye  dirty  gutter  cat,'  I 
answers  him.  *Phwat  kind  av  a  name  is  that 
to  put  to  a  good  girl?     Ye're  that  soaked  with  the 

8  105 


CROSS    TRAILS 

filth  av  the  troughs  ye've  rolled  in  that  it  runs 
out  av  yer  loose  mouth!' 

"I  was  hoping  that  he'd  take  it  sober  an'  jump 
me.  If  he  had  I'd  sure  have  split  his  gullet  with 
the  thin  butcher  over  there  on  the  board.  But  he 
only  looks  up  at  me,  grinning,  'Don't  she  live 
with  him  in  the  office?' 

"'An'  where  would  ye  be  afther  having  her 
live.'*'  I  shoots  it  back  at  him.  'In  the  bunk- 
houses  with  you  pigs?  'Twas  yerself  that  was 
with  him  whin  he  picked  her  up  on  the  trail,  an' 
well  ye  know  that  there's  been  no  chance  to  send 
her  out  since.' 

"'Sure,'  he  sneers.  'Picked  her  up  on  a 
lumberman's  trail  that  don't  lead  anywhere  else 
but  to  this  camp.  Don't  tell  me!  I've  seen 
these  office  fancies  before  in  the  Michigan  camps 
— some  of  'em,  too,  that  'u'd  stick  hard  by  their 
man  an'  not  go  bunny-hugging  with  another 
behind  his  back.' 

"'Another  like  that,'  I  tells  him,  'an'  I'll  brain 
ye  sure  with  the  skillet !' 

"But  he  only  laughs.  '  Ah,  go  to  hell ;  it  don't 
pay  to  quarrel  with  the  cook.  The  next  thing  I'd 
know  you'd  be  putting  ground  glass  in  my  beans.' 

"I  could  sure  have  done  it  right  thin.  I  was 
mad  enough  to  have  poisoned  the  dirthy  lot. 
But  he  didn't  say  anny  more,  an'  I  let  it  go  at 
that.  But  now  phwat  do  you  think?  It's  got 
to  be  stopped.  Would  ye  be  advising  me  to  tell 
the  Boss? 

106 


CROSS   TRAILS 

"But,  man,"  he  answered  the  foreman's  shake 
of  the  head,  "I've  seen  horrible  things  come  out 
av  less.  When  I  was  cooking,  fifteen  years  back, 
in  the  Wisconsin  woods" — the  incident  he  re- 
lated reeked  with  the  savage  passion  that 
wrought  the  death  of  five  men — "the  woman, 
she  died,  too.  Av  coorse  she  wasn't  like  this 
girl,  but  it  isn't  for  them  blind  brutes  to  tell  the 
difference.  I'd  feel  a  sight  more  comfortable  if 
she  was  out  av  the  camp.  Now,  a  word  slipped 
to  the  Boss — " 

"Not  on  your  life!"  the  foreman  interrupted. 
"Look  here,  Miles,  you  have  worked,  off  and  on, 
about  as  long  as  I  have  for  the  Ferriers,  and  I 
know  that  you  want  to  do  the  best  you  can  by  the 
Boss.     Now — " 

"Faix,  an'  I  do  that.     'Twas  for—" 

"Yes,  yes;  but  wait.  Because  I  know  it 
I'm  going  to  let  you  into  a  secret  that  doesn't 
belong  to  myself.  You  can't  tell  the  Boss  be- 
cause— she's  his  wife." 

Dropping  the  ladle  into  the  soup,  the  cook 
stared,  with  eyes  round  as  a  capital  "O"  above 
his  open  mouth.  "Ye  don't  say!"  he  gasped,  at 
last.  While  the  foreman  went  on  giving  an 
abbreviated  account  of  Ferrier's  story  his  ex- 
pression gradually  changed  to  awe  and  relief. 
"An'  to  think,"  he  exclaimed,  at  the  close, 
"if  he'd  happened  in  here  ahead  av  you  I'd  sure 
have  told  him.  Begor,  but  I  kem  mighty  close 
to  upsetting  his  soup.     But  say!"     He  added  it 

107 


CROSS   TRAILS 

after  a  moment  of  puzzled  reflection.  "We're 
her  friends,  you  an'  me,  but  ain't  it  a  bit  quare, 
her  takin'  after  the  clerk?" 

"Then  you  believe  what  that  fellow  said?'* 

"There  was  three  av  thim  that  saw  it — ^him 
an'  her  holding  hands  as  they  kem  up  from  the 
little  lake." 

"I  see."  The  foreman  nodded.  "It's  steep 
there  and  covered  with  ice.  He'd  naturally  offer 
to  help  her — not  that  I'm  thinking  she  doesn't 
show  him  more  favor  than  is  wise.  It's  this  way: 
At  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  still  thinks  a  good 
deal  of  Ferrier,  and  it  makes  her  so  darned  mad 
that  she  gets  in  and  flirts  a  little  out  of  self- 
defense." 

"Then  she's  just  using  av  him  to  spite  the 
Boss?" 

"At  first."  He  went  on  to  state  in  words  his 
thought  in  the  office.  "But  in  the  last  week  I've 
come  to  think  that  she's  begun  to  like  him  a  bit 
for  himself." 

A  touch  of  shocked  surprise  leavened  the  in- 
terest in  the  cook's  expression.  He  emitted  a 
dubious  cough.  "But  that  ain't  quite  right — 
for  a  woman  to  be  loving  two  av  thim.  It's  agin' 
nature." 

"Against  nothing!"  In  spite  of  his  deep  con- 
cern, the  foreman  had  to  grin.  "Do  you  mean 
to  tell  me,  Miles,  that  you  never  loved  two  girls 
at  once?" 

"Be  the  same  token,  I  did."    With  whimsical 

108 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ruefulness  the  cook  rubbed  the  bald  spot  on  his 
head.  "Here's  the  sign  av  it  where  the  old 
woman  grabbed  me  afther  catching  the  pair  av 
us  at  a  bit  av  a  kiss  in  the  dark.  There  was  no 
har-r-rm  in  it,  only  she  wanted  to  be  forehanded. 
There's  not  a  fairy  av  them  that  could  pull  me 
away  from  the  old  woman — though  I've  seen 
some  that  I'd  be  running  mighty  hard  from  if 
they  made  up  their  minds  to  try.  Shure,  'tis 
the  way  av  a  man  to  look  afther  a  pretty  girl, 
but  women — they're  different.'* 

"That's  where  you  and  the  Boss  make  the 
same  mistake.  To  hear  him  tell  of  how  she  left 
him  you'd  swear  she  was  a  dried-up  little  saint. 
Between  you  and  me,  she's  a  darned  sight  bet- 
ter than  that^ — a  woman  with  all  that  goes  into 
the  makings,  small  vanities  and  tempers,  love 
and  passion,  with  jealousy  enough  to  keep  'em 
sweet.  The  Boss  has  set  her  up  on  a  pedestal 
high  enough  to  make  any  girl  dizzy  to  look  down, 
and  it  will  be  altogether  his  own  fault  if  she  lets 
somebody  else  lift  her  off." 

"Say!"  The  cook  broke  a  silence  of  admira- 
tion. "You  know  a  few  things  av  yerself.  'Tis 
wonderful,  an'  you  nivir  even  married." 

The  foreman's  deep  laugh  rumbled  through 
the  cook-house.  "It's  only  that  you  married 
chaps  stand  too  close  to  the  lamp.  Of  all  the  men 
in  the  world  her  husband's  the  last  to  get  a  look- 
in  at  a  woman's  soul.  It's  us  fellows  on  the  out- 
side, that  get  the  bad  one's  nods  and  winks,  see 

109 


CROSS    TRAILS 

the  little  looks  and  sighs  that  tell  even  the  good 
ones  are  not  always  quite  content." 

The  idea  was  just  a  little  beyond  the  cook.  He 
scratched  his  head  during  a  puzzled  pause,  then: 
"So  you  think  the  bhoy's  afther  her.^^" 

"I  think  he's  in  love — £yid  he's  not  to  be 
blamed,  for  he  thinks  she's  a  single  woman.  He 
ought  to  have  been  told  in  the  beginning,  for 
even  though  she  turned  him  down  it  would  be 
mighty  awkward  if  he  offered  her  love." 

*"Twould  so,"  the  cook  agreed.  "This  camp 
wouldn't  be  big  enough  for  the  two  av  thim." 
While  he  stimulated  thought  with  a  forefinger 
he  added:  "But  for  the  life  av  me  I  can't  see 
what  she  can  see  in  him.  To  my  thinking,  he 
ain't  too  much  av  a  man." 

"Nor  to  mine,  but  we're  not  her." 

His  continuation  evidenced  once  more  that  rare 
feeling  and  judgment  which  surprised  Gabrielle 
whenever  he  spoke.  "He  can  handle  neither 
ax,  saw,  nor  cant-hook,  but  that  don't  cut  any 
figure.  He's  tall,  good-looking,  well  set  up,  and 
carries  himself  with  a  superior  sort  of  air  that 
always  fetches  some  women.  Then,  he's  edu- 
cated, nice-mannered,  and  talks  like  a  book.  On 
the  outside  there's  no  reason  why  she  shouldn't 
take  to  him.  Inside.'*  We  know  nothing  about 
that,  for  he  hasn't  been  tried.  But  he's  going  to 
be,  for  I'm  going  to  tell  him  right  away."  Ris- 
ing to  go  out,  he  concluded:  "If  I'd  known  what 
you've  told  me  I'd  have  done  it  before  they  went 

110 


CROSS    TRAILS 

out.  But  I've  got  business  in  that  direction,  and 
I'll  make  it  a  point  to  keep  them  in  sight." 

"An'  —  supposing  he  keeps  on  —  afther  he 
knows.''"  the  cook  called  after  him. 

"Then  it  will  be  up  to  her — and  the  Boss." 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHILE  the  foreman  and  cook  were  thus  phi- 
losophizing Gabrielle  and  the  clerk  pro- 
ceeded upon  their  way.  For  the  first  time  in  many 
days  the  sun,  from  his  low  arc  in  the  southern  sky, 
had  sent  pale  bands  of  light  drifting  through  the 
forest.  But  for  the  snow  reflections,  it  would  yet 
have  remained  merely  the  ghost  of  a  sunny  day. 
Thrown  up,  however,  from  the  face  of  that  great 
white  mirror,  the  light  trebled,  quintupled,  cre- 
ated the  illusion  of  a  midsummer  blaze.  Add- 
ing to  its  cheer,  the  smith's  anvil  sent  a  trail  of 
mellow  tones  to  mix  happily  with  the  sharp  stac- 
cato of  distant  axes,  cries,  cheerful  curses,  and 
kindred  sounds  of  busy  labor.  Combined  with 
the  sharp  tonic  of  the  frosty  air,  nothing  could 
have  been  so  efficacious  for  the  dissipation  of 
sentimental  miasmas.  The  first  lungful  sent  the 
laggard  blood  from  Gabrielle*s  brain  flowing 
upon  its  rightful  courses;  she  became  once  more 
mistress  of  herself. 

Walking  along,  she  repeated  in  thought  the 
small  lecture  she  had  delivered  to  herself  in  the 
quiet  of  her  bedroom  last  night :  "Now,  Gabrielle, 
take  care.     There  you  were  again,  making  a  fool 

112 


CROSS    TRAILS 

of  yourself.  It  isn't  fair — to  him.  After  this  I 
will  go  out  with  Mr.  Nelson,  and  I  won't  stay 
alone  with" — she  glanced  covertly  at  the  clerk 
— ^^him  in  the  office.  When  no  one  else  is  there 
I  shall  go  and  talk  to  the  cook." 

In  her  pleasure  over  this  stern  resolution  she 
felt  quite  justified  in  according  him  a  little  more 
attention,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  was 
worthy  of  it.  The  Templeton  walking  there  in 
the  snowy  woods  was  a  very  different  Templeton 
from  the  dissipated  young  man  who  had  been 
delivered  per  Allen  line  at  Quebec  a  year  and  a 
half  ago.  Clean  living  and  hard  work  had  ex- 
punged from  his  exterior  the  outer  evidence  of 
a  large  crop  of  wild  oats  just  sown  in  London. 
Unmarred  by  the  tortious  of  youthful  labor,  he 
was  good  to  look  upon,  in  the  prime  of  his  young 
manhood. 

Inside?  Well,  interiors  always  require  more 
radical  treatments,  change  only  through  experi- 
ences that  wrack  and  wrench  the  system  entire, 
before  the  tares  are  torn  up  by  the  roots.  Inside, 
he  was  pretty  much  the  same,  a  combination  of 
impulses — good,  bad,  and  indifferent;  passions, 
appetites,  all  swayed  by  traits  derived  from  a 
thousand  ancestors.  From  his  grave  in  Palestine, 
a  crusader  of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  reached 
forth  a  dead  hand  to  shape  and  mold  him,  battling 
with  a  frail  beauty  of  Charles's  court  for  posses- 
sion of  his  soul.  Very  much  in  love,  just  now, 
he  would  have  repelled  the  suggestion  of  evil 

113 


CROSS   TRAILS 

with  just  indignation.  He  was  presently  to 
prove  that  he  stood  ready  to  die  for  his  lady. 
But  if  he  got  wind  of  her  married  status  and  the 
affair  passed  the  bounds  of  standardized  love? 
It  remained  to  be  seen  whether  or  not  he  could 
rise  superior  to  inherited  prejudices  and  training, 
consider  it  from  any  other  than  the  second  con- 
ventional viewpoint — as  an  illicit  adventure. 

The  relief  that  followed  Gabrielle's  resolution 
also  permitted  her  to  take  a  livelier  interest  in  the 
things  about  them.  It  lent  animation  to  her  cry 
"Oh,  look!"  when  a  flock  of  snowbirds  flitted 
past  like  dandelion  fluff  under  a  breath  of  wind. 
She  had  barely  finished  exclaiming  her  wonder 
that  such  little  things  should  be  able  to  endure 
the  bitter  frosts,  before,  with  a  whir  of  beating 
wings,  a  ptarmigan  rose  out  of  a  fountain  of  snow 
almost  at  their  feet.  After  she  had  curiously 
investigated  its  lair  among  the  roots  of  a  small 
red  willow  there  next  appeared  a  snow  tracery 
of  small-feet  scratches  that  marked  the  passage 
of  some  rodent,  perhaps  a  mink  on  the  trail  of  the 
ptarmigan.  Still  later  the  tracks  of  a  trotting 
fox  claimed  their  attention.  Then  a  deeper  im- 
pression of  padded  paws  amid  bloody  feathers 
told  how  a  lynx  had  sprung  from  a  bough  upon 
his  kill.  To  her,  a  city  girl,  it  was  all  new,  and 
while  she  studied  and  enthused,  bankrupting 
the  clerk's  small  store  of  woodcraft,  time  was 
afforded  for  the  foreman  to  gain  upon  their  trail. 

They  were  reversing  yesterday's  tramp,  and 
114 


CROSS    TRAILS 

thus  she  did  not  take  particular  notice  of  the 
direction  until,  with  its  usual  disconcerting 
abruptness,  the  trail  suddenly  emptied  them  into 
the  clearing  where  the  red-eyed  teamster  was  at 
work  with  two  of  his  fellows. 

"Oh,  I  had  forgotten!"  She  uttered  a  vexed 
exclamation.  But,  realizing  how  queer  it  would 
look  to  turn  back,  she  held  on  past  the  men. 
"Oh,  nothing!"  she  replied  to  the  clerk's  ques- 
tion in  a  whisper.  "Only  I  have  conceived  such 
an  intense  dislike  for  that  man." 

"He — he  hasn't  dared  to  address  you.'*"  The 
very  idea  brought  the  choleric  blood  of  the 
aristocratic  Templetons  in  a  rush  to  his  cheeks. 
"If  he  has—" 

"Oh  no!"  she  headed  him  off.  "Only  he  al- 
ways looks  at  me  as  if" — "he  owned  me"  was  in 
her  mind;  she  substituted  a  lame  construction 
— "he  stares  so!" 

It  was  unfortunate.  Apart  from  his  aristo- 
cratic ideas  concerning  the  proper  bearing  of 
what  his  mother  would  have  called  "the  lower 
classes"  he  was  just  at  that  period  when  even  a 
cursory  glance  at  the  object  of  his  love  will 
cause  the  young  male  to  growl  and  bristle. 
Looking  quickly,  he  caught  not  only  the  man's 
stare,  but  also  the  wink  and  nod  he  threw  to  his 
companions.  Not  noticing  that  he  had  stopped, 
Gabrielle  walked  on  till  his  sharp  challenge  rang 
out  on  the  frosty  air: 

"Here,  you!     You,  sir!    What  do  you  mean?" 

115 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"Oh,  go  to  hell!" 

As  the  man  returned  harsh  answer  Gabrielle 
whirled  and  saw  that  the  clerk  was  running  back. 

Then — crack !  his  fist  landed  squarely  between 
the  teamster's  eyes.  A  shrewd  blow,  it  caught 
him  off  balance,  and  after  one  ineffectual  stagger 
he  sprawled  backward  and  lay  for  a  moment 
staring  up  in  blank  surprise. 

Had  he  been  a  bully  of  the  London  slums,  the 
sharp  lesson  would  probably  have  ended  there. 
Inherited  respect  for  the  upper  class  would  have 
combined  with  fear  of  the  police  to  keep  him 
quiet.  But  this  was  no  "hooligan,"  deprived 
of  natural  courage  by  slow  starvation,  but  a  lum- 
berman, brought  up  in  the  ferocious  tradition  of 
the  Wisconsin  and  Michigan  camps.  His  first 
quiescence  was  due  to  the  momentary  paralysis 
that  might  seize  even  a  wolf  if  it  were  suddenly 
attacked  by  a  peaceful  lamb.  When  it  passed — 
like  that  wolf,  he  came  straight  at  the  throat  of 
his  man. 

It  was,  of  course,  a  serious  breach  of  ethics. 
For  a  thousand  generations  his  species  had  meek- 
ly accepted  the  kicks  and  cuffs  of  the  Templetons 
of  the  earth,  with  or  without  halfpence,  and  as 
the  clerk  staggered  back  and  then  went  down 
under  the  furious  assault  his  expression  betrayed 
shocked  surprise. 

It  lacked,  however,  the  slightest  taint  of  fear. 
Though  the  lumberman  swarmed  all  over  him — 
feet,  hands,  teeth,  and  nails,  all  going  at  once  in 

116 


A  SHREWD  BLOW,  IT  CAUGHT  HIM  OFF  BALANCE,  AND  AFTER  ONE  INEFFECTUAL 
STAGGER    HE    SPRAWLED    BACKWARD 


It.-" 


CROSS    TRAILS 

the  ferocious  Michigan  style — the  clerk  fought 
back  with  tenacious  courage  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  the  ancestor  who  fought  with 
Coeur  de  Lion.  Having  secured  a  two-handed 
grip  on  the  fellow's  throat,  he  hung  on  like  a 
bulldog,  in  spite  of  thumps,  worrying,  clawings, 
kicks,  hung  on  even  after  two  thumbs  slid  into 
the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

Then  he  became  conscious  of  a  flutter  of  skirts, 
and  caught  a  flash  of  white  hands  tugging  hard 
at  the  broad  shoulders  above,  heard  Gabrielle's 
voice  in  horrified  pleadings.  He  tried  to  shout 
"Go  away!"  but  every  ounce  of  his  energy  was 
concentrated  in  his  fingers;  not  an  iota  was  left 
for  speech.  But  despite  her  efforts,  with  delib- 
eration that  was  devilish  the  thumbs  continued 
to  press.  A  pang  of  agony,  torture  excruciating, 
shot  through  his  eyeballs.  Then  the  pressure 
ceased  at  the  same  moment  the  throat  was  torn 
from  his  grasp. 

Though  he  scrambled  at  once  to  his  feet, 
streaming  tears  prevented  him  from  seeing  the 
teamster  kicking  like  a  child  in  mid-air  at  the 
full  upward  stretch  of  the  foreman's  great  arms. 
But  he  did  hear  the  thud  with  which  he  struck 
on  the  hard  trail.  The  shock  would  have  half 
killed  a  city  man.  But,  tough  as  hickory,  im- 
bued with  a  panther's  virility  as  well  as  its  fe- 
rocity, the  man  was  up  again  in  a  second.  Mad- 
dened by  the  taste  of  fight,  he  flew  at;  the  foreman 
as  he  had  at  the  clerk.    The  latter 's  sight  cleared 

117 


CROSS    TRAILS 

sufficiently  for  him  to  see  the  fellow's  guard  beat- 
en down  by  an  arm  heavy  and  rigid  as  an  iron  bar. 

This  time  he  could  not  come  back.  But  while 
he  lay  senseless,  spread-eagled  over  the  hard 
snow,  it  seemed  as  though  his  companions  might 
do  so,  for  they  advanced  a  few  steps,  each  grip- 
ping an  iron-shod  cant-hook.  They,  however, 
were  cold,  unwhetted  by  fight.  Hesitating,  they 
stopped  and  stood,  sullen  glances  flickering  be- 
tween the  foreman  and  the  senseless  man  at  his 
feet. 

White  almost  as  the  snow,  Gabrielle  also  stared, 
surprised  out  of  her  first  inclination  to  faint.  For 
in  place  of  her  quiet,  gentle  friend  there  loomed 
a  berserk  Norseman,  swelling,  gigantic,  with 
heavy  brows  lowering  over  eyes  of  molten  steel. 
He  was  the  viking  reincarnate.  It  required  no 
imagination  to  picture  him  on  the  prow  of  a 
pirate  galley,  beating  sword  and  shield  in  time 
to  his  saga  of  battle.  His  voice,  when  he  spoke, 
was  singularly  in  apposition  to  his  appearance. 
Yet  its  icy  quiet  was  infinitely  more  deadly  than 
a  roaring  challenge: 

"Well.?  What's  the  matter?  Why  don't  you 
come  on?" 

They  were  not  so  foolish.  Throwing  down  his 
cant-hook,  one  of  them  spoke:  "'Tain't  none  of 
bur  fight.  Better  let  us  'tend  to  him,  boss,  be- 
fore he  freezes." 

"Small  loss  if  he  did.  I've  a  notion  to  take  a 
cant-hook  and  finish  the  job." 

118 


CROSS    TRAILS 

He  looked  quite  capable  of  it,  but  just  then 
Gabrielle's  voice  fell  like  a  dash  of  water  upon 
his  hot  anger: 

"Oh,  you  are  sure  that  you  are  not  hurt?  Oh, 
it  was  horrible!    I  felt — I  thought — '* 

It  was  not  so  much  the  words  as  the  tone  that 
caused  him  to  turn  quickly.  In  that  moment  of 
horror  Gabrielle  of  the  caves  had  escaped  the 
control  of  her  civilized  sister.  She,  the  creature 
of  feeling,  knew  right  well  the  terms  of  the  con- 
test, as  well  as  did  her  foresisters  in  the  fierce 
fights  of  the  caves.  When  he  saw  her  stepping 
forward,  handkerchief  in  hand,  to  wipe  the  clerk's 
streaming  eyes  the  foreman  felt  that  she  was  in 
imminent  danger  of  bestowing  the  prize. 

"She'd  clean  lost  her  holt  on  herself,"  he  told 
that  other  good  friend  of  hers,  the  cook,  de- 
scribing the  affair  an  hour  later.  "Her  voice?  I 
wouldn't  have  had  Ferrier  hear  it  for  all  of  old 
Vanderbilt's  money,  it  was  that  soft  and  tender 
with  love  and  pity.  If  he'd  really  lost  an  eye  it 
was  worth  it." 

"Let  me  see!"  Just  in  time  he  stepped  in 
between  her  and  the  clerk,  and,  though  he  saw 
at  once  that  the  eyes  were  not  injured,  he  pro- 
longed the  examination  to  afford  her  time  to 
regain  control  of  herself.  He  heard  her  deep 
sigh  when  at  last  he  spoke:  "No  harm  done. 
He'd  only  just  begun.  A  quart  of  hot  water  will 
put  them  all  right.  Come  along  back  to  the  cook- 
house." 

119 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"Oh,  he's  all  right."  He  answered  Gabrielle's 
scared  glance  at  the  senseless  man.  "Nothing 
less  than  a  crowbar  could  put  a  dent  in  his  thick 
skull."  With  a  recurrence  of  the  berserk  gleam 
he  added:  "He'll  get  it  some  day,  too.  It's  the 
usual  finish  of  his  kind." 

Taking  the  clerk's  arm  in  a  rough  but  not 
unkindly  grip,  he  led  him  off,  talking  while 
they  walked,  with  the  definite  purpose  of  easing 
the  strain  till  relations  should  become  normal. 
"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  asked,  and  after  he  had 
heard  went  on  to  give  some  rough  but  wholesome 
advice.  "Yes,  he's  a  bad  lot.  I'd  fire  him  if 
there  was  any  way  to  get  him  out.  But  remem- 
ber, young  fellow,  the  next  time  you  fall  out  with 
any  of  these  chaps  don't  look  for  a  stand-up 
fight.  If  you've  got  to  lick  one  of  'em  pick  up 
the  nearest  cant-hook  and  drive  the  point  between 
his  teeth.  Sounds  rough,  but  it's  the  only  argu- 
ment they  understand." 

All  the  time  he  was  talking  he  managed  to 
watch  Gabrielle,  who  walked  on  his  other  hand, 
and  while  the  soft  admiration  which  presently 
replaced  her  first  pallid  despair  was  not  altogether 
to  his  liking  it  was  yet  the  more  preferable  of 
the  two.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  cook- 
house he  saw  with  relief  that  she  had  regained 
her  control;  and,  though  she  insisted  on  bathing 
the  clerk's  eyes  herself,  the  service  was  after  all 
the  meed  of  his  valor,  duly  earned. 

"She's  pulled  herself  together,"  he  inwardly 
lieo 


CROSS    TRAILS 

commented.  Nevertheless,  remembering  her  first 
look  and  tone,  he  did  not  leave  anything  to 
chance.  The  eyes  duly  bathed  and  comforted, 
he  went  straight  to  his  duty  as  it  appeared  to  him. 
When  Templeton  replied  to  his  question  that  his 
sight  was  completely  restored  and  the  pain  gone 
the  foreman  exclaimed:  "That's  fine,  though  I 
felt  pretty  sure  he  hadn't  done  you  much  harm. 
If  you  feel  like  resting,  by  all  means  take  it. 
If  not,  I'd  like  to  have  you  write  out  a  list  of 
smith's  stores." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  the  clerk  assured  him,  and 
after  thanking  Gabrielle  he  followed  at  once  out- 
doors. 

instead  of  going  to  the  smith,  however,  the 
foreman  led  the  way  to  an  empty  bunk-house. 
"Never  mind  the  list,"  he  replied  to  the  clerk's 
glance  of  interrogation.  "I  brought  you  here 
where  we  could  be  alone  for  a  little  talk.  It  is 
on  rather  a  delicate  matter,  but  I  believe  you'll 
take  it  all  right." 

Seating  himself  on  a  bench  by  the  cold  stove, 
he  waited  till  the  other  settled  on  the  opposite 
side,  then  began,  "Looks  like  you've  taken  a 
fancy  to  that  girl."  , 

His  tone  was  apologetic,  his  manner  kindly, 
but  neither  served  to  ward  off  the  clerk's  quick 
frown  of  offense.  It  proved  that  the  hard 
knocks,  disillusionments  of  his  colonial  career, 
had  left  his  caste  egotism  untouched.  His 
manner,  replying,  might  have  belonged  to  the 

g  121 


CROSS   TRAILS 

first  Sir  Richard  Templeton  rebuking  a  peon  on 
his  estate. 

"Really,  my  dear  fellow,  I  don't  see  that  it  is 
any  of  your  business." 

"I'm  not  your  dear  fellow.'* 

A  touch  of  the  berserk  rekindled  in  the  fore- 
man's eyes.  But  it  died  as  quickly,  and  he  went 
on  in  steady,  even  tones:  "I'm  sorry  that  you 
take  it  that  way;  but,  since  you  do,  let  me  tell  you 
that  it  is  far  better  that  I  should  handle  it  than 
the  person  to  whom  it  rightfully  belongs.  There's 
one  or  two  things  you  have  got  to  be  told,  and 
I'll  begin  by  saying  that,  while  I'm  not  denying 
you  played  a  gentleman's  hand  out  there  just 
now,  I  do  question  your  wisdom.  In  a  place  like 
this,  where  folks  have  to  live  close,  can't  get 
away  from  each  other,  it  is  sometimes  wise  not 
to  look  too  closely.  If  that  fellow  had  deliber- 
ately insulted  the  young  lady  I  shouldn't  have 
blamed  you  for  striking.  But  a  nod  and  a  grin 
that  she  didn't  see  wasn't  going  to  do  her  much 
harm.  Anyway,  if  protection  was  needed  it 
would  have  been  better  to  leave  it  to  her  hus- 
band." 

"Her  husband?" 

"That's  what  I  said."  In  his  natural  resent- 
ment he  found  it  hard  to  suppress  a  certain 
satisfaction  at  the  clerk's  look  of  dismay.  "She 
is  the  Boss's  wife." 

"Ferrier's  —  wife?  But  —  why  —  they  hardly 
speak — are  scarcely  civil  to  each  other!" 

122 


CROSS   TRAILS 

The  feeling  behind  his  pained  stammerings 
softened  the  other.  "If  civility  was  proof  of 
marriage  there'd  be  mighty  few  that  would  stand. 
They  separated  after  a  scrap.  Now,  look  here," 
he  continued,  with  his  usual  kind  good  nature; 
"this  is  their  secret,  and  I  am  only  telling  it  to 
prevent  you  from  making  trouble  for  her  and 
yourself.  Excepting  you  and  the  cook  there's 
no  one  else  knows  it  in  all  the  camp.  She  isn't 
aware,  either,  that  we  know  it,  and  it  will  now 
be  up  to  you  to  see  she  doesn't  find  out." 

"Of  course,  of  course!"  By  a  manifestly  pain- 
ful effort  the  clerk  mastered  his  dismay.  "You 
can  depend  on  me." 

"That's  the  talk."  Placated  by  his  ready  as- 
sent, the  foreman  gave  his  natural  kindness  full 
sway.  Moved  by  the  utter  misery  of  the  other's 
face,  he  attempted  a  little  comfort.  "I  know  it 
is  rough  on  you.    Yet — " 

But  again  the  Templeton  pride  rose  in  revolt. 
Uttering  a  chilly,  "Thank  you,  but  please  keep 
your  sympathy  till  I  ask  for  it,"  he  rose  and 
walked  out. 

Following  to  the  door,  the  foreman  watched 
him  striding,  head  bent,  toward  the  ojQSce.  A 
shake  of  the  head  evidenced  his  own  doubt.  But 
presently  his  expression  of  cheerless  disgust 
lightened.  He  even  indulged  in  a  small  grin  that 
accompanied  the  thought,  "Well,  that  ought 
to  hold  you  for  a  little  while." 

Inside  the  oflBce  the  clerk  sat  at  his  desk, 

123 


CROSS    TRAILS 

plunged  in  moody  meditation.  Almost  an  hour 
passed  before  he  moved.  But  when  he  did  his 
sudden  chirking  up  and  the  conceited  way  in 
which  he  fell  to  twisting  the  ends  of  his  blond 
mustache  would  not  have  increased  the  foreman's 
optimism  over  the  situation  had  he  been  there 
to  see. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  an  attempt  to  impress  the  literati  of  his 
time,  Solomon,  the  Wise,  wrote  the  following: 
"Strange  is  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid." 

He  would  have  done  better,  however,  had  he 
reversed  the  terms  of  the  equation,  for  by  con- 
trast with  the  way  of  a  maid,  that  of  a  man  is 
like  unto  a  level  path  through  a  sunlit  land.  Re- 
turning from  maids  in  general  to  Gabrielle  in 
particular,  her  path  during  the  next  few  days 
exhibited  so  many  advances,  retreats,  swift 
doublings,  stops,  and  turnings,  that  the  sympa- 
thetic visions  of  her  friends,  the  cook  and  fore- 
man, were  hopelessly  strained  in  the  attempt  to 
follow  its  ramifications. 

In  the  morning  she  always  took  coffee  and  toast 
with  the  cook  several  hours  after  the  camp,  in 
eluding  the  "office,"  had  finished  breakfast  and 
gone  about  its  daily  tasks.  After  a  lively  chat 
she  then  usually  watched  the  smith  pounding 
white-hot  iron  into  mighty  thews  and  sinews 
for  Nelson's  huge  sleds,  until  the  sharp  frost 
drove  her  back  to  the  office.  Through  his  spy- 
hole in  the  frozen  pane  above  his  baking-board, 
the  cook  saw  her  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the 

125 


CROSS   TRAILS 

smithy  next  morning.  Templeton  was  going  out 
on  some  errand  to  the  forest,  and,  unseen  by 
him,  she  gazed  after  him  with  a  certain  modest 
wistfulness  that  was  more  eloquently  revealing 
than  the  most  shameless  stare  of  abandoned 
love.  It  could  not  be  better  expressed  than  in 
the  words  the  cook  used  when  describing  it 
later  to  the  foreman. 

"She  reminded  me  powerful  of  a  pretty  deer 
that's  just  caught  the  whistle  av  its  mate  in  the 
forest.  Listening  with  all  av  its  ears,  soft  eyes 
glowing,  an'  it  all  a  tippy-toe  ready  to  go  the 
next  jump." 

And  yet  both  at  lunch  and  dinner  that  even- 
ing her  manner  and  speech  toward  the  clerk 
bordered  on  coldness.  "Was  she  only  fooling.f^" 
Observing  her  through  a  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke 
as  they  all  sat  by  the  office  fire,  Nelson  asked  it 
of  himself.  When  a  vivid  recollection  of  her  con- 
cern the  preceding  day  rose  in  denial,  he  adopted 
the  only  alternative:  "She's  hedging — plumb 
afraid  of  herself." 

The  idea  did  not  afford  him  unmitigated  satis- 
faction, for  it  was  contrary  to  the  strength,  vir- 
ility of  purpose,  generous  passions  with  which 
he  had  credited  her  in  his  thought.  His  con- 
clusion, "I'd  allowed  she  was  the  kind  that  take 
the  bit  in  their  teeth  when  they  see  what  they 
want,"  carried  almost  a  flavor  of  disappoint- 
ment, though  he  chided  himself  for  it  the  next 
moment.     "You  damned  idiot!    Any  one  would 

126 


CROSS    TRAILS 

think  that  you  were  hankering  for  her  to  make  a 
fool  of  herself." 

Knowledge  of  her  real  motive  would  have  re- 
moved that  slight  dissatisfaction,  for  he  had  not 
erred  in  thinking  her  devoid  of  the  cold  selfish- 
ness required  for  safe  steering  in  the  blind  rapids 
of  passion.  She  was  fully  capable  of  "making  a 
fool  of  herself." 

In  the  frozen  watches  of  the  preceding  night 
she  had  fought  a  fierce  battle  against  herself. 
Her  marriage,  duty  to  its  vows,  law,  religion, 
the  world,  had  all  come  under  inquisition  that 
stripped  away  their  surface  and  left  them  ex- 
posed for  that  which  they  were — man-made  in- 
stitutions that  sadly  interfered  with  the  comfort 
of  her  flesh  and  spirit.  In  the  darkness  that 
other  Gabrielle  had  crept  out  of  her  cave  to  wage 
unrelenting  war  for  her  own  rights.  In  all  of  the 
long  fight  she  had  not  given  a  single  thought  to 
the  cost  to  herself.  Whatever  the  world  de- 
manded in  pay  she  would  have  rendered  cheer- 
fully enough,  and  the  victory  had  hung  in  the 
balance  till  the  spirit  cleverly  turned  the  flanks 
of  the  flesh. 

"He  is  in  love  with  you."  She  frankly  ad- 
mitted the  contention  of  the  flesh.  "And  you — 
like  him  well  enough.  But  supposing  that  you 
encouraged  him?  What  could  you  give  him  be- 
yond shame  and  disgrace.'*  If  you  won't  think 
of  yourself,  at  least  have  a  little  consideration 
for  him."   Whereupon,  spanked  but  unconvinced, 

127 


.       CROSS    TRAILS 

the  other  Gabrielle  had  retired  in  dudgeon  to  her 
caves. 

In  all  of  her  reflections  Ferrier  was  almost 
ignored.  "I  owe  him  nothing."  She  had  dis- 
missed him  with  a  phrase.  "  If  it  were  only  he — " 
No,  her  concern  was  all  for  the  clerk,  and  if  her 
idealization  of  him  differed  widely  from  the  real 
person  in  ambush  behind  an  expression  of  injured 
melancholy  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth, 
that  was  her  misfortune  more  than  her  fault. 

And  the  difference  had  widened  to  an  impass- 
able gulf  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  Re- 
covering with  the  ease  possible  only  to  a  shallow 
nature,  from  the  shock  of  the  foreman's  announce- 
ment, Templeton  had  swung  in  his  tracks  and 
now  turned  to  the  situation  the  only  other  face 
possible  for  his  vitiated  instinct  and  traits. 
While  out  of  her  deep  pity  she  assumed  an  in- 
difference she  was  by  no  means  feeling,  he  was 
thrilling  evilly  to  a  repeated  thought: 

"She's  married,  married — yet  she  let  me  hold 
her  hand.  If  I  had  known  it  then — and  those 
confounded  teamsters  had  been  out  of  the  way — " 

Instead  of  exciting  regret  the  thought  of  her 
marriage  now  tickled  his  vanity,  lent  piquancy 
to  his  imaginings.  Her  indifference,  the  same 
vanity  caused  him  to  read  as  disguise.  Yet, 
while  so  reading  it,  with  a  weak  man's  selfishness 
he  did  his  best  to  tear  it  away.  His  melancholy 
air,  injured  look,  were  all  to  that  end.  Any  real 
dudgeon  that  he  might  have  felt  was  altogether 

128 


CROSS    TRAILS 

due  to  resentment  that  she  was  able  to  hide  her 
feeling  at  all. 

Unaware  of  this,  Gabrielle  accepted  the  spu- 
rious counterfeit  as  real  feeling,  and  when,  in 
weak  anger  at  her  continued  indifference,  he  went 
off  to  bed  a  full  hour  before  his  usual  time  she 
sent  after  him  the  same  look  of  modest  wistful- 
ness  that  had  aroused  the  cook's  pity  that 
morning. 

"You  poor  little  thing!"  The  foreman,  who 
noticed  the  look,  muttered  it  beneath  his  breath. 
Then  in  the  midst  of  his  sympathy — in  fact,  while 
the  door  still  quivered  under  the  clerk's  closing 
hand — she  achieved  one  of  the  aforesaid  doub- 
lings. 

"Did  I  hear  you  say  that  you  were  going  down 
to  the  river  to-morrow?"  she  asked  of  Ferrier. 

"Yes.    Would  you  like  to  go?" 

The  joy  that  leaped  up  in  his  fine  hazel  eyes, 
flamed  all  over  his  eager  face;  almost  defeated 
the  obscure  instinct  that  had  instigated  her 
question — almost,  not  quite,  for  after  a  pause 
she  answered,  "Yes."  Moreover,  she  went, 
observed  with  widely  different  feelings  by  the 
clerk  and  cook  from  their  respective  spy-holes 
in  the  office  and  cook-house.  The  foreman  him- 
self tucked  the  robes  snugly  about  her  before 
Ferrier  drove  off.  After  sleeping  a  night  on  it 
he  had  gained  further  understanding,  which  he 
presently  put  into  words  for  the  cook. 

"She's  afraid  of  herself."     He  answered  the 

129 


CROSS   TRAILS 

latter's  jubilant  comment  on  this  unexpected 
turn  of  affairs;  nor  did  he  quite  agree  with  the 
sentiment  that  "she  would  come  by  no  har-r-rm 
with  the  Boss." 

"Not  if  he  goes  easy  and  lets  her  have  her 
head.  If  he  tries  any  rushing — "  He  shook  his 
big  head. 

Ferrier,  on  his  part,  was  not  altogether  un- 
aware of  the  fact.  From  their  repeated  clashes 
he  had  learned  that  Gabrielle  was  neither  to  be 
led  nor  driven  in  any  direction  that  did  not  suit 
her  own  will;  and,  starting  out,  he  behaved  ac- 
cordingly, pitching  his  manner  and  conversation 
upon  a  pleasantly  impersonal  plane.  And  it 
brought  results.  Half  sick  and  weary  from  her 
midnight  strivings,  the  girl  was  in  a  mood  to 
welcome  anything  that  would  lift  her  out  of  her- 
self. His  quiet  talk  brought  a  lull  in  her  stormy 
thought.  As  the  sled  sped  swiftly  on  she 
yielded  more  and  more  to  a  sense  of  peace. 
Somehow  his  clear-cut  phrases,  good  common 
sense,  restrung  her  loosened  fibers.  Uncon- 
sciously she  absorbed  his  strength.  Before  they 
had  progressed  a  mile  she  began  to  display  real 
interest  and  presently  contributed  her  fair  share 
to  the  talk  which  ran  the  gamut  of  camp  affairs. 
In  fact,  it  was  she  who  first  detected  something 
peculiar  in  the  attitude  of  the  "swamping"  gang 
which  had  just  begun  work  on  a  new  cut  of  logs. 

"They  were  not  working  when  I  first  saw  them 
through  the  trees,"  she  said,  when,  after  a  glance 

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CROSS   TRAILS 

over  the  work,  Ferrier  drove  on.  "They  were 
all  in  one  group  talking  till  they  heard  our  bells. 
And,  see" — a  backward  glance  had  shown  them 
at  it  again — "look  how  violently  they  are  ges- 
ticulating.    There  must  be  something  wrong." 

"Just  soldiering,  I  reckon,"  he  returned  careless 
answer.  "They  will  do  it  now  and  then.  Nel- 
son will  be  out  soon,  and  he'll  speed  them  up." 

Her  uneasiness  allayed,  she  yielded  again  to  the 
sense  of  comfort.  So  far  things  had  gone  very 
well.  From  both  their  points  of  view — he  who 
desired  nothing  more  than  to  be  with  her,  she 
who  was  obtaining  needed  rest — the  drive  was 
proving  a  success.  The  rapid  motion,  sharp  bite 
of  the  frost,  cheerful  talk,  all  helped  to  dissipate 
mental  vapors  and  restore  her  being  to  its 
usual  healthy  tone.  If  her  miasmas  had  only 
blown  away  on  the  wind !  Or  if,  after  extracting 
them,  he  could  have  shaken  them  off  his  finger 
ends  in  the  same  fashion  that  old  ladies  of  Celtic 
stock  get  rid  of  headaches !  But  when  from  sheer 
lassitude  she  presently  relapsed  into  silence  they 
promptly  entered  into  him.  He  fell  a  prey  to 
his  own  thoughts;  became  the  thrall  of  wild, 
pulsing  feeling. 

Of  all  the  glamours  with  which  tasteful  integu- 
ments can  invest  a  woman  there  is  none  so  appeal- 
ing as  that  imparted  by  furs.  Pretty  at  her 
worst,  in  furs  Gabrielle  was — not  to  be  denied. 

"She's  mine!"  The  thought  flamed  in  Ter- 
rier's  mind.     "She's   mine!     Even    if   she    did 

131 


CROSS    TRAILS 

leave  me  we  are  still  bound.  By  law  and  custom 
she  is  mine!" 

He  would  have  been  less  than  human  if  the 
thought  had  not  been  followed  by  its  natural 
consequent — a  furious  impulse  to  seize  and  take. 
He  deserved  credit  for  the  strength  that  enabled 
him  to  govern  the  impulse  all  the  way  to  the  river 
and  half-way  home.  But  for  the  ptarmigan 
which  burst  out  of  the  usual  fountain  of  snow 
almost  under  the  ponies'  noses,  he  would  probably 
have  held  out  to  the  end.  But  when,  shying  off 
the  high  trail,  the  little  beasts  upset  the  sleigh, 
restraint  was  set  at  naught. 

His  first  thought  on  seizing  her  even  then  was 
to  ease  her  fall.  But  as  his  senses  leaped  to  the 
feel  of  her,  luxuriously  soft  in  his  arms,  that 
primitive  impulse  sprang  into  full  command. 
Without  attempting  to  rise,  oblivious  of  the 
ponies  that  were  plunging  through  the  deep  snow 
with  the  overturned  sleigh  dragging  behind,  he 
tore  the  collar  away  from  her  face  and  went  in 
search  of  her  lips. 

At  first — and  through  his  blind  passion  he  felt 
dim  astonishment — she  lay  on  the  white  couch  of 
the  snow,  placid,  quiescent.  For  a  few  delirious 
moments  he  thought  that  she  had  submitted. 
Perhaps  subconsciously  she  had.  Wearied,  as 
aforesaid,  by  two  restless  nights,  she  had  relapsed 
during  the  last  hour  into  a  sort  of  coma  in  which 
her  senses  escaped  the  slackened  guard  of  her 
'•ebel    mind.    Neither    the   past,    present,    nor 

132 


CROSS    TRAILS 

future  had  any  place  in  consciousness.  Susanne, 
Ferrier,  even  Templeton,  appeared  as  dim 
nebulosities  in  far-off  space.  Only  her  senses 
were  awake;  the  senses  in  which,  when  left  to 
themselves,  Ferrier  excited  no  repugnance;  the 
senses  that,  on  the  contrary,  had  deliriously 
registered  his  kisses  little  more  than  a  year  ago; 
the  senses  that  accepted  them  now  till  her  mind 
awoke. 

"Oh,  you  brute!" 

Crying  it,  she  struck  wildly  at  his  face.  But 
instead  of  chilling,  the  blow  merely  inflamed  him. 
Crushing  her  against  him  he  tried  to  kiss  her 
again,  would  have  but  for  the  look  of  vivid  re- 
pulsion that  flashed  out  through  her  horror  and 
fright.  Where  blows  failed,  that  remembered 
look  won  out.  Rising,  he  helped  her  up,  then 
stood,  slowly  dusting  the  snow  off  his  fur 
coat. 

"Oh!  You  — you— "  Words  failed.  She 
stood,  biting  her  lips,  hands  clenched  inside  her 
mittens,  the  angrier  for  the  trick  of  her  traitorous 
senses.  If  she  could  have  wiped  out  the  memory 
of  that  momentary  submission,  had  been  free 
to  charge  all  to  his  outrageous  brutality,  she 
could  have  commanded  the  situation.  From  the 
pinnacles  of  her  outraged  pride  she  could  have 
scathed  him  with  her  scorn.  But  now.'*  He  stood 
looking  at  her,  eyes  shining,  tense,  eager,  face  alive 
with  understanding. 

"You — are  not  even  ashamed!"  she  made  a 
133 


CROSS    TRAILS 

lame  finish,  then  turned  from  him,  dimbed  back 
to  the  trail,  and  began  to  walk  on. 

Though  he  could  not  see  her  face,  she  managed 
to  make  her  back  convey  a  vivid  impression  of 
frozen  dignity.  But  it  was  all  on  the  surface. 
Underneath  she  was  filled  with  palpitant  dismay. 

If  he  really  were  not  repulsive,  had  still  power 
to  arouse  in  her  physical  liking,  how  was  it 
possible  that  she  could  also  lo — like  the  clerk? 
Under  the  illumination  of  her  dismay  and  anger 
she  obtained  a  flashing  glimpse  of  an  intimate 
personal  revelation.  Then,  shutting  the  eyes  of 
her  mind  tightly  against  it,  she  manufactured 
a  ready  excuse: 

"Of  course,  he  isn't  exactly  repulsive,  and  I  was 
so  tired  and  fagged  out,  just  as  good  as  asleep." 
'  Whatever  delusion  she  might  be  cherishing  in 
regard  to  her  real  feeling,  there  was  nothing  false 
about  her  anger.  She  hated  him,  bitterly  hated 
him,  for  his  understanding.  Walking  ahead,  she 
took  out  her  handkerchief  and  washed  her  lips 
with  snow.  Every  drop  of  her  Latin  blood  lent 
tingling  force  to  her  mental  affirmation:  "He'll 
live  to  repent  it!     I'll  make  him  sorry  for  this!" 

Undoubtedly  the  nebulous  intention  that  had 
been  floating  in  her  mind  since  Dominique's  de- 
parture, crystallized  into  a  definite  purpose  there 
and  then.  "No,  I  won't  walk  out,"  she  had 
answered  the  clerk  at  its  birth.  Now,  walk- 
ing along,  her  mind  busied  itself  with  plans  to 
avoid  that  alternative.    Providing,  as  it  were,  an 

134 


CROSS    TRAILS 

escape-valve  for  surplus  emotion,  she  was  able 
to  bring  her  anger  under  control.  Whereas  five 
minutes  ago  she  would  have  sworn  that  no  power 
on  earth  could  persuade  her  to  ride  again  with 
Ferrier,  she  offered  no  objection  when,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  up  the  trail,  they  found  the  ponies 
straddled  on  each  side  of  a  young  poplar-tree. 
The  sleigh  was  none  the  worse,  beyond  a  crack 
in  the  pole,  which  he  bound  with  a  halter  rope. 

"I'm  not  altogether  stupid,"  she  replied  to 
his  offer  to  walk  and  let  her  drive  on  alone.  "I 
should  look  silly  going  in  by  myself.  I  can  stand 
it — as  far  as  the  camp." 

So  they  drove  on  in  silence — that  is,  of  words. 
A  certain  quiet  exultance,  repressed  smile  loudly 
proclaimed  his  thought:  "Say  what  you  will,  the 
fact  remains — you  lay  quiet  as  a  little  mouse  in 
my  arms." 

Just  as  clearly  her  ominous  calm  conveyed 
her  answer:    "Wait!    Oh,  just  waitr 

Apart  from  these  silent  communings  nothing 
passed  between  them  up  to  the  moment  he 
stopped  the  ponies  in  the  clearing  where  they 
had  passed  the  men. 

"Why,  is  it  only  three  o'clock?" 

He  sent  a  puzzled  glance  over  the  clearing. 
The  logs  that  thrust  sawn  snouts  and  dark- 
brown  bellies  out  of  the  snow  lay  thick  among 
the  stumps.  "  Work  enough  for  three  days  here," 
he  commented.  "Where  the  dickens  can  they 
be?    It  is  far  too  early  for  them  to  have  gone  in." 

135 


CROSS   TRAILS 

But  gone  in  they  had;  and,  driving  along 
through  the  silent  forest,  a  premonition  of  the 
cause  was  gradually  driven  in  upon  him.  In- 
stead of  the  usual  clip-clip  of  busy  axes,  ringing 
song  of  the  saws,  hum  of  labor,  there  came  only 
the  sough  of  the  wind  among  the  trees.  Twice 
he  had  to  turn  out  to  pass  loads  that  loomed 
huge  and  dark  as  houses  above  them  on  the 
trail,  and  there  was  no  break  in  their  equipment 
to  warrant  the  phenomenon.  Snow  had  begun 
to  fall  again  in  the  last  hour,  and  already  a  white 
powder  lay  over  the  green  of  the  iced  tracks. 
Before  they  obtained,  down  a  long  vista,  a 
glimpse  of  men  swarming  all  over  the  camp,  Fer- 
rier  had  arrived  at  the  truth: 

"They've  quit — struck!" 

As  the  sleigh  came  slipping  out  into  the  open 
the  swarm  gathered  in  groups  and  knots,  and  in 
the  glances  that  clung  and  followed  her  in  the 
old  disconcerting  fashion  Gabrielle  shivered  with 
fear. 

The  office  now  lay  only  a  few  yards  ahead. 
Just  before  they  reached  it  Ferrier  bent  over 
and  spoke  in  low  tones:  "I  am  sorry.  God 
knows  that  I  would  not  willingly  do  anything  to 
deepen  your  prejudice." 

But  her  eyes  went  to  the  clerk  who  had  just 
come  to  the  door.  "That  would  be  impossible." 
She  threw  it  over  one  cold  shoulder,  then  called 
to  the  clerk,  who  had  turned  to  go  back  in :  "  Will 
you  please  help  me  out.f^" 

136 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Still  under  the  influence  of  the  heavy  sulks 
that  had  held  him  all  morning,  he  hesitated. 
Then,  thrilling  to  something  significant  in  her 
smile,  he  stepped  forward.  While  stepping  out 
he  thought  that  she  pressed  his  hand,  and  when 
with  sudden  resolution  he  returned  the  pressure 
and  she  gave  no  sign  of  offense  the  blood  flamed 
through  his  leaping  pulses,  his  brain  whirled^ 
It  did  not  steady  until  Ferrier  had  driven  on  to 
the  stable  and  he  stood  watching  her  warm  her 
small,  cold  hands  at  the  fire. 

"Ouch!  They  hurt!"  She  made  a  wry  face 
when  her  fingers  began  to  throb  with  the  revival 
of  circulation. 

"Let  me  rub  them?" 

She  held  them  out  at  once,  and  while  he  rubbed 
them,  first  one,  then  the  other,  her  late  anger, 
desire  for  revenge,  reinforced  natural  liking.  At 
first  he  chafed  vigorously,  but  in  correspondence 
with  his  own  mounting  feeling  the  motion  dwin- 
dled down  to  a  languid  caress.  By  that  time, 
however,  she  had  fallen  a  prey  once  more  to  the 
vibrant,  pulsing  feeling  that  had  glued  her  hand 
in  his  on  the  evening  they  climbed  the  hill. 
Though  she  had  surrendered  her  hands  of  her 
own  free  will,  with  a  distinct  purpose  in  view, 
she  found  it  impossible  to  withdraw  them  after 
both  the  purpose  was  achieved  and  her  excuse 
had  departed  along  with  the  pain.  Even  when 
his  caressing  hand  swept  her  sleeve  almost  to  the 
elbow  she   still   stood.     Languid   and    relaxed, 

10  137 


CROSS    TRAILS 

figure  slightly  drooped,  eyes  softly  glowing,  a 
faint  blush  on  her  face,  she  offered  no  protest 
until,  bending  suddenly,  he  planted  a  kiss  on  the 
cool  white  flesh  of  her  arm. 

"Oh  no!'*  Then  she  drew  hastily  back,  hands 
folded  behind  her  out  of  reach  of  his  clutch. 
"No,  no!  They  no  longer  hurt — and  some  one 
is  coming." 

It  was  only  a  striker  straggling  through  the 
camp,  but  during  the  minute  that  elapsed  before 
his  footfall  died  she  had  time  to  take  order  with 
herself.  When,  eyes  shining  in  the  midst  of  his 
flushed  face,  Templeton  made  to  advance  she 
held  up  a  protesting  hand.  "Do  you  wish  to 
offend  me?"  When  he  halted  she  added:  "That 
is  right.  I  wasn't  mistaken  in  thinking  you  my 
friend." 

''Friend?    I'm  your  sla — " 

"Friend,"  she  hastily  interposed,  "just  my 
friend." 

"But—" 

"Not  now."  She  headed  off  the  avowal  she 
read  in  his  face.  "Later  I  shall  have  something 
to  tell  you.    Till  then—" 

"Till  then — "  His  tremulous  jubilance  told 
that  he  read  it  as  a  promise.  "Till  then  I'll  be 
content  with  *  friend.'  You  can  count  on  me  for 
anything.  Tell  me,  what  can  I  do.f*  You  need 
help?" 

"Surely  I  do."  Smiling  at  his  ready  ac- 
quiescence, she  went  on:    "You  know  that  I 

138 


CROSS    TRAILS 

neither  came  here  nor  remained  of  my  own 
accord?" 

"But  I'm  glad  that  you  did." 

**  Selfish!"  Her  smile  abstracted  the  sting. 
"You  and  Mr.  Nelson  have  both  been  nice,  just 
as  considerate  as  could  be,  and  the  cook — is  an 
old  dear.  Yet  you  must  have  realized  how  diffi- 
cult my  position  here  is — a  single,  solitary  girl  all 
by  herself  in  a  lumber-camp.  The  men — they 
stare  so!    And  that  man — the  other  day — " 

"Yes,  yes!"  He  nodded.  "It  is  hard,  and  yet 
— could  hardly  be  avoided.  However  much  one 
feels  like  doing  it,  there  is  no  way  to  stop  it." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  conceded.  "Is  it  true? 
Are  they  really  on  strike?" 

"Yes.  They  claim  that  the  food  has  been  re- 
duced below  a  working  ration  and  refuse  to  go 
out  till  Dominique  returns  with  the  teams.  It's 
hardly  true.  Though  the  beef  has  given  out,  they 
still  receive  a  fair  allowance  of  pork  and  beans. 
Not  enough,  perhaps,  to  satisfy  a  lumberjack's 
voracious  appetite,  but  sufficient  to  work  on. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  the  food  is  only  an  excuse. 
As  I  told  you  once-  before,  a  lumberman  will 
sooner  fight  than  eat — ^by  preference,  with  the 
Boss.  Nelson  has  been  making  a  few  quiet  in- 
quiries, and  finds  that  our  red-eyed  friend,  Bar- 
tholomew, and  his  gang  have  been  stirring  up 
trouble  ever  since  they  came  to  the  camp." 

"That  dreadful  man!"  She  shuddered.  "Then 
they  will  be  in  camp  now  all  the  time.     Oh,  that 

139 


CROSS   TRAILS 

makes  it  worse  than  ever!  I  shall  be  mewed  up 
indoors — won't  dare  to  go  out." 

"It  will  only  be  till  Dominique  returns." 

*'  Then  you  really  believe  that  he  got  out  to  the 
railroad?"  And  when  he  replied  in  the  aflSrma- 
tive  she  clapped  her  little  hands.  "If  he  can  do 
it,  so  can  I!"  Eyes  flashing,  face  aglow,  she  exe- 
cuted a  little  swaying  dance.  "Don't  tell  me 
that  I  can't.  It  has  hardly  snowed  since  he  left, 
and  the  chances  are  all  in  favor  of  fair  weather, 
after  a  month  of  storms.  My  mind  has  been 
made  up  for  two  weeks.  Nothing  can  stop  me — 
if  you  will  only  lend  me  your  help." 

He  was  so  interested  in  the  swayings  of  the 
graceful  figure  that  he  caught  only  the  last 
phrase.     "My  help.?" 

"Oh,  I  have  it  all  worked  out."  She  slid  back 
and  forth  again  in  her  dance.  *'A11  that  I  need 
is  for  you  to  help  me  get  away." 

"By  yourself. f^"  He  shook  his  head  when  she 
nodded.  "Not  on  your  life!  If  I  help  you  it 
will  be  on  condition  that  I  go,  too." 

"But—" 

In  her  excitement  she  had  not  heard  the  snow 
crunch  under  the  foreman's  heavy  foot.  She 
had  no  more  than  time  to  slip  to  the  other  side  of 
the  hearth  before  he  entered.  Templeton  had 
moved  with  equal  celerity  back  to  his  desk,  and 
now  she  bridged  an  uncomfortable  pause  with  a 
question  fired  at  Nelson's  head:  "Is  it  true  that 
the  men  have  struck.'^" 

J40 


CROSS   TRAILS 

"True  enough."  He  gravely  nodded,  replying 
to  further  questions  which  had  been  answered 
already  by  the  clerk.  "It  is  Bartholomew,  that 
red-eyed  teamster,  and  his  gang.  They  are 
natural  trouble-breeders.  But  don't  you  bother, 
miss."  He  looked  down  upon  her  from  his  great 
height.     "Whatever  happens,  I'll  take  care  of 

you." 

Entering,  his  face  had  been  set  in  rough  stern- 
ness, but  now  its  lines  melted  in  tender  kindness. 
Looking  up  into  his  eyes,  sea-blue  and  gentle  and 
honest,  she  was  smitten  with  a  sudden  desire 
to  tell  him  all,  make  a  clean  breast  of  her  anger, 
pique,  perplexities,  contradictory  likings.  But 
it  was  merely  an  impulse  which  she  would  hardly 
have  carried  over  into  action  even  if  Ferrier  had 
not  just  then  come  in.  It  expended  itself  in 
grateful  thanks. 

"You  have  always  been  so  kind." 

Bestowing  a  gentle  pat  on  her  shoulder,  he 
turned  to  answer  Ferrier 's  question,  "  Well,  what 
about  it.?" 

And  while  they  talked,  canvassing  the  situation, 
viewing  it  from  every  possible  angle,  that  wise 
impulse  of  hers  completely  died.  Though  no 
opportunity  presented  itself  for  further  talk 
with  Templeton  that  afternoon,  she  managed  to 
whisper  to  him  as  they  came  back  to  the  oflSce 
from  the  evening  meal: 

"We'll  go  for  a  walk  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XI 

TIRED  out  by  two  sleepless  nights,  plus  the 
afternoon's  emotion,  Gabrielle  retired  early. 
Any  expectations  of  sleep  which  she  might  have 
been  cherishing  were,  however,  doomed  to  be 
disappointed,  for  the  strikers  were  celebrating 
their  release  from  labor.  Though  she  could  not 
see  the  yellow  squares  of  light  gleaming  brightly 
in  the  dark  mass  of  the  bunk-houses,  neither  could 
she  escape  the  songs  and  catcalls,  buzz  of  talk, 
punctuated  by  oaths  of  triumph  or  disgust,  which 
marked  the  fluctuations  of  several  poker  games. 
Whenever  their  voices  accidentally  rose  above 
the  first  guarded  tones,  odd  sentences  from  the 
counsel  that  Ferrier  was  holding  with  Nelson, 
were  interjected  into  the  general  noise. 

"I  told  them  they'd  be  taxed  a  dollar's  board 
for  every  day  they  laid  off,"  came  Nelson's  deep 
tones.  "  But  they  just  grinned,  and  Bartholomew 
pipes  up:  'Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  reckon  you'll 
be  needing  a  few  men  for  the  spring  drive."* 
"Bartholomew?"  Ferrier  inquired.  "He's — '* 
"The  chap  you  brought  in.  Best  hand  with 
oxen  I  ever  saw,  but  meachin*  and  contrary  as 
hell." 

142  ' 


CROSS   TRAILS 

Gabrielle  wondered  if  he  were  about  to  speak 
of  the  fight.  But  he  did  not.  Ferrier  spoke 
again:  "You  are  sure  he's  at  the  bottom  of 
this.?" 

"The  head  of  it.  Big  Hans,  Ole,  Legarde, 
Svenson,  the  fellow  you  pulled  from  under  the 
*fall,'  and  French  Bill  are  with  him;  all  of  a  much- 
ness for  deviltry,  but  lacking  his  brains.  He's 
wicked.  One  of  the  boys  was  telling — "  His 
lowered  voice  sank  below  the  raucous  chorus  of 
a  lumberman's  chantey  in  the  bunk-house  next 
door.  She  heard  no  more  till  Ferrier  spoke  to 
the  clerk. 

"You  can  sleep  here  to-night.  Go  for  your 
blankets,  and  while  you  are  out  pass  the  word  to 
Miles  to  bring  his,  too." 

In  the  silence  that  ensued,  after  the  clerk 
passed  out,  Gabrielle  felt  that  they  were  listening 
to  make  sure  that  she  slept.  "Then  there  is 
danger,"  she  thought,  and  was  convinced  of  it 
when,  the  next  moment,  Ferrier  spoke: 

"It  won't  do  any  harm  to  be  prepared." 

"You  bet."  The  foreman  gave  heavy  confir- 
mation. 

Had  there  been  room  for  doubt,  it  would  have 
been  dispelled  by  Ferrier's  next  words:  "I  wish 
she  were  out  of  here — honestly  I  do.  I  was 
hoping  at  first  for  reconciliation,  but  she's  very 
bitter.  Once  or  twice  it  looked  as  though  she 
were  showing  signs  of  relenting,  but  at  the  slight- 
est advance  she  would  freeze  right  up.    And  this 

143 


CROSS    TRAILS 

afternoon — "  Gabrielle  burned,  then  cooled 
again.  "Well,  I  made  a  fool  of  myself,  fixed  my- 
self with  her  for  fair." 

She  would  have  been  inhuman  not  to  have 
b«en  touched  by  the  regret,  pain  of  his  tone. 
Then,  as  invariably  happened  in  her  softer  mo- 
ments, the  old  tide  of  feeling,  turbulent,  unan- 
alyzable,  came  welling  up  from  below.  "You 
surely  have,"  her  thought  echoed  his  state- 
ment. Yet  the  next  instant  she  found  herself 
seized  by  emotion  that  was  contrary  as  complex. 

"I  wish  she  had  not  come  here  at  all.  I  was 
settling  down  to  work,  training  myself  to  forget, 
and  now — it  is  all  to  do  over  again." 

Somehow  she  did  not  like  that.  Certain  as 
she  was  that  his  case  was  hopelessly  prejudiced, 
that  she  had  put  him  forever  out  of  her  own  life, 
she  still  wanted  him  to  go  on  regretting,  remem- 
bering. She  strained  her  ears  to  Nelson's  gentle 
remonstrance: 

"Pshaw!    Don't  give  up." 

"I  haven't  yet;  won't  till  I've  got  to  the  bot- 
tom of  something  that  happened  this  afternoon." 
Gabrielle  burned  again,  for  she  knew  that  he 
meant  that  moment  of  quiescence  when  she  lay 
in  his  arms.    Yes,  she  burned  but — listened. 

"After  that,  if  it's  a  blind  lead,  I  shall  call 
quits  and  set  her  free.  She's  young,  awfully 
pretty,  can  pick  and  choose  from  lots  of  good 
fellows.  When  we  go  down  to  Winnipeg  in  the 
spring  I  shall  see  a  lawyer  at  once." 

144 


CROSS   TRAILS 

She  was  now  conscious  of  a  curious  stir  of  feel- 
ing that  had  its  base  in  resentment  and  was  de- 
cidedly unpleasant. 

*'I  wouldn't  go  too  fast."  It  was  the  foreman 
again.  "Looks  to  me  like  she  hasn't  found  her- 
self yet.  She's  worth  a  long  wait,  and  there's 
no  knowing  what  may  happen  if  you  give  her  her 
own  time." 

*' She's  welcome  to  all  of  mine — from  now  till 
doomsday."  The  stir  partially  subsided,  allayed 
by  the  depth  of  feeling  that  pulsed  in  his  answer. 
"It  is  her  good  that  I  am  thinking  of — not  my 
own.  I  only  feel  that  if  there  is  no  chance  of 
reconciliation,  I  don't  want  the  flower  of  her  life 
to  be  wasted  in  useless  waiting.  If — "  He  broke 
off  as  the  door  opened  to  admit  the  cook  and 
clerk. 

During  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  an  occa- 
sional whisper  rose  above  the  rustle  of  bedding. 
She  caught  the  cook's  husky  brogue:  "I  wouldn't 
be  afther  trusting  none  av  thim,  an'  their  hearts 
black  as  a  dirty  night.  The  little  lady's  got  to 
be  kept  under  guard." 

Startled,  she  listened  for  more,  but  the  whis- 
pers ceased.  Oppressed  with  apprehension,  the 
more  terrible  because  of  its  indefiniteness,  she 
lay  training  her  ears  to  every  sound,  till  a  sud- 
den whoop  and  train  of  following  catcalls  brought 
her  sitting  up  in  bed.  Shivering  with  cold  and 
fear,  she  sat  staring  into  the  darkness,  which  sud- 
denly resolved  itself  into  answering  stares,  ranks 

145 


CROSS    TRAILS 

of  faces,  all  set  in  the  avid,  animal  regard  which, 
beginning  on  the  street  of  the  Portage,  had  met 
and  followed  her  everywhere.  As  never  before 
she  felt  them,  the  little  glances,  plucking  and 
touching,  embracing,  caressing,  manifestations 
of  a  creative  force  before  which  she  shrank, 
afraid.  Her  horror,  needless  to  say,  gave  an  enor- 
mous stimulus  to  the  desire  she  had  expressed  to 
the  clerk.  When,  after  she  was  half  frozen,  she 
forced  herself  to  lie  down  by  a  strong  effort  of 
will,  she  lay  for  a  long  time  thinking  out  her 
plans.  They  were  completed  by  the  time  sleep 
stilled  the  last  noise  in  the  camp. 

Even  then  she  did  not  sleep.  Her  plans  thus 
settled,  her  mind  returned  to  the  scraps  of  con- 
versation she  had  overheard,  and  as  she  mused 
upon  them  there  awoke  within  her  a  great  won- 
der at  herself.  "Whatever  is  the  matter  with 
you?"  She  asked  it  in  her  thought.  "You  let  him 
kiss  you — and  liked  it,  even  if  you  were  half 
asleep.  Yet  when  Mr.  Templeton  chafed  your 
hands — "  She  shivered  under  a  recurrence  of 
the  long,  slow  thrills.  Bewildered,  lost  in  a  maze 
of  contradictory  feeling,  she  was  driven  by  sheer 
desperation  to  the  generalization  which  the  world 
and  the  church  invented  for  just  such  cases. 

"I  suppose  that  it  is  dreadfully  wicked.  But 
wicked  or  not,  I  can't  help  it.    And — I'm  going." 


CHAPTER  XII 

FROM  deep  sleep,  following  nervous  exhaus- 
tion, Gabrielle  was  aroused  again  by  voices 
to  find  it  broad  day. 

"I  was  thinking,  myself,  that  'twas  no  manner 
av  use  to  be  getting  breakfast  at  four."  The 
cook  was  explaining  his  oversleep. 

"No,"  came  Ferrier's  answer.  "Eight  is  early 
enough,  and  you  can  move  lunch  on  an  hour." 

"Sounds  like  Sunday,"  Nelson  made  rambling 
comment. 

And  surely  it  did.  The  catcalls,  snatches  of 
song,  crunching  of  snow  under  the  moccasins  of 
early  risers  were  all  phenomena  peculiar  to  the 
Sabbath.  Though  with  slight  variations  the 
sounds  were  identically  the  same  as  those  that 
had  caused  Gabrielle's  last  night's  fears,  day- 
light somehow  robbed  their  terrors.  While  she 
was  dressing,  the  rising  sun  transmuted  her  win- 
dow-panes into  squares  of  gleaming  silver,  a  cheer- 
ful augur.  When,  after  the  men's  breakfast,  she 
walked  with  Nelson  and  Ferrier  over  to  the 
cook-house,  she  felt  stronger  than  ever  the  Sab- 
bath calm  that  enveloped  the  camp. 

After   weeks    of    solidity    the    mercury   had 

147 


CROSS    TRAILS 

thawed  long  enough  to  register  twenty-nine  be- 
low, a  genial  temperature  by  contrast  with  pre- 
vious cold.  And  there  was  no  wind.  The  forest 
brooded  in  deathlike  stillness.  Everywhere  the 
sun  shone,  by  the  steaming  stable  doors,  in  the 
lee  of  the  hay-corrals,  in  front  of  the  bunk-houses, 
where  knots  of  men  smoked  and  skylarked  in 
their  shirt-sleeves.  They  all  seemed  so  happy 
that  Gabrielle  had  begun  to  reproach  herself  for 
her  fears  when  she  happened  to  overhear  the 
foreman's  comment: 

"They're  good-tempered  enough  just  now,  and 
if  Dominique  turns  up  in  good  time  they'll  go 
right  back  to  work.  But  if  it  comes  on  storming 
again  and  we  have  to  cut  again  on  the  grub — " 

His  ominous  pause  and  the  covert  stares  of 
the  few  stragglers  who  had  come  to  breakfast 
late  revived  and  strengthened  her  resolution. 
In  pursuance  thereof  she  spoke  to  Templeton 
when,  after  the  meal,  they  returned  to  the  office. 
"Will  you  go  with  me  for  a  walk?" 

"Sure."  Ferrier  answered  the  clerk's  inquir- 
ing look.    "There  isn't  a  thing  to  do." 

"I  wouldn't  go  too  far,"  Nelson  called  after 
them  as  they  went  out.  "Idle  men  are  always 
liable  to  get  into  mischief,  and  a  good  many  of 
them  will  be  out  in  the  woods."  His  meaning 
look  added,  "You  remember  the  other  day." 

Neither  the  remark  nor  the  look,  however,  re- 
vealed his  real  feeling.  Filling  his  pipe,  he  smoked 
thoughtfully  for  a  while,  glancing  between  puffs 

148 


CROSS   TRAILS 

at  Ferrier,  who  was  measuring  off  twist  tobacco 
for  two  lumberjacks.  Presently  he  rose.  "Don't 
know  but  I'll  take  a  stroll  myself." 

Outside,  he  stood  still  a  moment,  looking 
around.  But  the  pair  had  slipped  away  by  a 
footpath  that  led  into  the  woods  from  behind 
the  office,  and  were  already  out  of  sight.  Chang- 
ing his  intention,  he  returned  to  the  fire  and  his 
pipe.  "Anyway,  it  wouldn't  do  any  good,"  he 
ruminated.  "Nobody  can  tell  her.  She's  got 
to  find  him  out."  He  added  a  little  later," She'll 
do  it,  too,  sure  as  fate." 

He  might  have  been  a  little  less  optimistic 
could  he  have  caught  a  glimpse  just  then  of  her 
face;  have  seen  the  flooding  colors  that  were  the 
joint  product  of  excitement,  pleasure,  and  hope. 
Chatting  gaily  while  swinging  along  at  Temple- 
ton's  side,  there  was  no  hint  of  discovery  in 
either  her  manner  or  look.  Though  she  pulled 
quickly  away  when  he  reached  for  her  hand  as 
they  passed  out  of  sight,  it  was  done  very  gently. 
There  was  no  particle  of  anger  in  her  reproof: 

"I  told  you  *  not  yet.'" 

"That  implies  sometime?"  he  begged. 

She  returned  a  smiling  "Perhaps,"  adding  in 
response  to  his  persistence,  "when  we  are  on  the 
outside." 

To  her  that  meant  the  Portage,  Winnipeg, 
Montreal,  some  place  where  she  should  have  time 
to  think  and  feel  truly,  decide  on  their  future  re- 
lations.    It  was  impossible  for  her  to  read  his 

149 


CROSS   TRAILS 

interpretation  of  it  from  the  sudden  blue  glow 
of  his  eyes.  If  she  had,  it  would  undoubtedly 
have  brought  a  pause  into  the  bright  detail  of 
her  plans. 

"I  had  meant  to  do  it  all  along,  and  last  night 
I  thought  it  all  out  to  the  end.  The  ponies,  you 
know,  are  the  fastest  beasts  in  camp.  With  a 
fair  start — " 

"You  propose  to — steal  them?" 

*^ Borrow  them,*'  she  corrected;  "also  the  light 
sled.    We'll  leave  them  at  the  Portage.'* 

"But—" 

"Are  you  afraid.''"  Her  eyes  brightened  with 
a  touch  of  scorn. 

"Not  a  bit."  Neither  was  he.  His  hesitation 
was  merely  due  to  his  impracticability,  inability 
to  grasp  the  idea  from  her  hint.     "But  how — " 

"Oh,  that  is  easy."  Her  eyes  softened  again. 
"I  shall  plead  a  headache  at  supper  to-night 
and  go  out  in  the  middle  of  the  meal.  While 
you  are  all  eating  I  shall  get  my  furs,  then 
go  down  to  the  stable  and  burrow  into  the  hay 
in  the  empty  stall  at  the  end.  They  will  think, 
of  course,  that  I  have  gone  to  bed,  and  after  they 
have  gone  to  sleep  you  can  slip  out.  Then  it's 
easy  as  telling  it;  we'll  hitch  and  slip  quietly 
away." 

"But  the  bells?"  he  criticized.  "You  know 
there's  a  double  string  on  the  ponies'  harness!" 

She  stared  her  surprise.  A  daughter  of  the 
frontier  herself,  bred  of  a  people  in  whom  two 

150 


CROSS   TRAILS 

centuries  of  struggle  against  stern  forces  had  de- 
veloped efficiency  into  an  instinct,  she  could 
hardly  understand  such  an  amazing  impracti- 
cability. But  where  a  man  would  have  been 
moved  to  scorn  his  inefficiency  excited  in  her 
only  soft  laughter. 

"Don't  you  think  that  we  might  take  them 
off?  When  we  return  to  the  camp  you  must 
choose  your  time  to  slip  into  the  stable  and  do 
it.  Also  take  close  note  of  where  the  sled  stands, 
and  after  dark  run  it  a  few  hundred  yards  down 
trail  into  the  woods.  We  can  hitch,  then,  in 
safety." 

"Say,  you  are  a  wonder!"  She  had  stopped 
to  gaze  at  him.  Moving  on  again,  he  gave  full 
vent  to  his  admiration.  "I  should  never  have 
thought  of  that."  He  proved  it  the  next  mo- 
ment by  another  question:  "But — can  we  fol- 
low the  trail?" 

"Dominique  did." 

"But  he's  Indian." 

She  shrugged  a  little  impatiently.  "We  can 
follow  his  tracks." 

"What  if  they  are  blown  over?" 

"Not  likely.  It  takes  a  good  many  storms  to 
completely  wipe  out  a  track,  and  when  it  is  laid 
on  top  of  a  beaten  trail  you  can  always  trace  the 
outlines  by  the  border  of  scrub  and  grass."  Once 
more  reversing  their  natural  positions,  she  ran 
on,  laying  out  her  plan:  "The  trail  will  be  al- 
most good  in  the  shelter  of  the  forest  to  the  first 

151 


CROSS    TRAILS 

teaming  hut  at  Fifteen  Mile.  We'll  feed  and 
take  breakfast  there,  then  go  on  to  Thirty  Mile 
for  lunch.  After  a  good  rest  and  feed  there  the 
ponies  ought  to  be  able  to  make  Forty-five  Mile 
— where  Mr.  Ferrier  picked  me  up,  you  know — 
before  night.  Next  day,  if  the  weather  holds  out, 
we'll  make  Norway's  road-house.  Then  a  morn- 
ing's run  will  put  us  into  the  Portage." 

"We'll  require  food." 

She  laughed  lowly  in  amused  triumph.  "Mr. 
Ferrier  has  been  kind  enough  to  provide  that." 

"Ferrier?    Why—" 

"All  of  the  teamsters'  huts  were  stocked  at 
the  beginning  of  winter  with  rough  provision." 

"But  supposing  it  has  all  been  used?" 

"It  hasn't."  She  laughed  merrily  at  his  per- 
sistent objections.  "I  heard  Mr.  Nelson  tell  the 
cook  yesterday  that  if  Dominique  did  not  re- 
turn before  the  end  of  the  week  he  would  send 
down  and  bring  in  the  food  from  the  two  nearest 
huts." 

"Well,  you  surely  are  a  wonder!" 

Aware  that  only  a  tithe  of  his  admiration  was 
due  to  her  sagacity,  she  colored  a  little  and 
turned  her  head  from  his  gaze.  Feeling  also  the 
response  in  herself,  she  ran  on  covering  her  pleas- 
ant confusion  with  a  mask  of  talk,  planning 
everything  in  detail  down  to  the  furnishing  of 
the  sled  with  rugs  and  horse-blankets. 

To  him  both  her  foresight  and  confidence  were 
amazing,  though  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  lat- 

152 


CROSS   TRAILS 

ter  quality  was  born  of  her  wide  ignorance  con- 
cerning the  differences  of  winter  travel  on  the 
uncharted  prairies  and  the  fenced  roads  of  the 
Quebec  townships.  Whatever  its  origin,  her  con- 
fidence was  supreme,  did  not  require  the  stimulus 
that  lay  in  wait  around  the  next  turn  of  the  trail. 

Always  the  unexpected  presides  over  forest 
meetings.  Though  the  clip  of  an  ax,  ring  of  a 
saw,  tap  of  a  wedge  may  give  warning,  the  vary- 
ing density  of  brush  and  trees  prevents  one  from 
judging  the  distance,  or  one  may  stumble  over  a 
gang  during  a  pause  in  their  work.  So  beyond 
a  low  murmur  of  talk  that  was  drowned  by  their 
own  chatter  they  received  no  notice  of  the  five 
men  who  were  sitting  on  a  log  under  the  lee  of  a 
pile  of  brush. 

Big  Hans  and  Ole,  Bartholomew,  and  his  two 
mates.  Templeton  recognized  them  at  a  glance 
as  the  five  leaders  in  the  strike.  Of  them  all 
Gabrielle  knew  only  Bartholomew  by  sight.  But, 
though  coming  suddenly  on  them,  she  instantly 
averted  her  eyes,  the  first  fleeting  glance  had 
given  her  the  coarse,  vulgar  faces,  frowsy  cloth- 
ing, animal  jaws  furiously  chewing  tobacco.  Of 
all  living  things  that  pass  in  the  forest,  man,  at 
once  the  highest  and  lowest,  is  the  only  one  that 
defiles  the  winter  prospect.  The  wolf,  the  fox, 
mink,  ptarmigan,  smaller  rodents,  register  their 
march  only  with  the  faint  tracery  of  little  feet. 
While  hurrying  by,  Gabrielle  instinctively  held 
her  breath. 

11  153 


CROSS    TRAILS 

** Evidently  a  conspiracy."  Templeton  had 
whispered  it  at  first  sight.  Now,  in  passing,  he 
tried  to  ease  the  strain  with  a  greeting:  "Good 
morning,  men." 

It  was,  however,  about  the  worst  possible 
thing  that  he  could  have  said.  Declined  with 
the  rough  ease  which  Nelson  or  Ferrier  could 
have  put  into  it,  offense  would  still  have  been 
given  to  the  harsh,  wild  instincts,  natural  anar- 
chism of  lumberman  nature.  Spoken,  as  it  was, 
with  an  English  accent,  emphasizing  the  tone 
of  patronage,  it  aroused  instant  resentment. 

"Mornin'  yerself!" 

"An'  how  do  you  do,  me  men?" 

The  answers  ranged  from  mere  imitations  of 
his  accent  to  the  evil  insinuation  in  the  remark 
Bartholomew  sent  after  them:  "OflSce  kinder 
crowded,  eh?  Well,  two's  company,  I  reckon, 
out  here  in  the  woods." 

It  was  not  so  much  the  words,  which  might 
very  well  have  come  out  of  rude  ignorance.  They 
took  their  point  from  the  lewd  accompanying 
sneer.  So  gross  it  was,  so  palpable,  that  Tem- 
pleton stopped  and  clenched  his  fist.  But  be- 
fore he  could  turn  Gabrielle  plucked  his  sleeve. 
"Don't  heed  themf    For  my  sake,  hurry  on!" 

Almost  pulling  him  after  her,  she  turned  at 
right  angles  into  a  by -trail  and  broke  into  a 
swift  run.  But  the  gang  had  noted  Templeton's 
pause,  and  as  she  flew  along  like  a  frightened 
hare,  jeers   and  coarse   laughter  came  floating 

i«4 


CROSS    TRAILS 

after.  Not  till  they  were  beyond  earshot  did  she 
stop  and  face  him. 

"Do  you  wonder — now" — she  panted,  as  much 
from  anger  as  from  the  run — "that  I  am  deter- 
mined to  get  away?  Oh!"  Eyes,  one  big  brown 
flash  in  the  midst  of  angry  blushes,  foot  viciously 
tapping  the  hard  snow,  she  added,  "I'd  go, 
now,  if  I  had  to  walk  out.    Oh,  if  I  were  a  man !" 

"You  stopped  me  from  going  back."  He 
spoke  from  a  sense  of  injury.    "I'll  go  now." 

He  would  have,  too,  for  he  had  already  shown 
that  cowardice  had  no  place  in  the  sum  of  his 
weakness,  but  again  she  grasped  his  arm.  "No, 
no!  I  didn't  mean  it!  They  would  kill  you — 
this  time.    Let  us  go  back  to  the  camp?" 

It  was  not  very  far,  less  than  a  mile.  While 
they  were  walking  she  did  not  speak  again;  only 
whispered,  just  before  they  entered  the  oflSce: 
"I  am  going  in  to  rest — sleep,  if  I  can.  You  had 
better  do  the  same.  And  don't  forget.  While 
the  men  are  at  supper  put  the  horse-blankets  in 
the  sled,  then  run  it  out  in  the  forest." 


CHAPTER  XIII     . 

YOU  didn't  stay  out  long."  The  foreman 
laid  aside  his  pipe  when  she  entered. 

He  seemed  a  little  surprised,  but  this  changed 
to  quick  commiseration  when  she  pleaded  a 
headache.  Refusing  his  offer  to  bring  her  a  cup 
of;  tea,  she  carried  a  sharp  twinge  of  remorse 
into  her  room;  one  that  gave  rise  to  the 
thought,  "Oh,  what  will  he  think  of  me.'^" 

After  resting  the  greater  part  of  the  day  she 
went  over  to  the  cook-house,  where,  under  dis- 
guise of  a  "cup  of  tea,"  she  managed  to  make  a 
fair  meal.  Here  again  her  feeling  of  ingrati- 
tude was  rendered  more  poignant  by  the  cook's 
kindness.  A  lump  rose  in  her  throat  when,  indi- 
cating half  a  dozen  cans  of  condensed  milk,  he 
informed  her  that  the  rare  delicacy  was  to  be 
reserved  for  her  sole  use.  She  had  hard  work  to 
hold  back  her  tears  at  his  parting  admonition: 

"Now  ye'll  be  the  better  av  another  wink  av 
shleep.  Go  an'  lie  down,  an'  be  supper-time  I'll 
have  something  ready  that'll  lie  light  on  the 
stomach." 

She  was  smitten  once  more  when,  coming  out 
into  the  oflSce  at  dusk,  she  was  met  by  the  fore- 
man's welcoming  smile.     "Head  any  better?" 

J56 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"A  little,"  she  answered,  and  in  her  softer 
mood  replied  quite  gently  to  Ferrier's  offer  to 
hunt  up  some  headache  powders,  "It  is  very 
kind  of  you,  but  I  don't  care  to  take  them." 

Before  coming  out  she  had  folded  the  Hudson 
Bay  duffle-blankets  on  her  bed  into  a  roll  with 
such  stealth  that  not  even  a  rustle  crossed  the 
partition.  She  had  also  put  on  extra  thick  stock- 
ings under  her  arctics  and  laid  out  her  wraps 
and  furs  ready  to  her  hand.  The  clerk's  absence 
from  the  room  told  that  he  was  out  upon  his  par- 
ticular mission,  so  there  was  nothing  left  but  to 
sit  down  by  the  fire  and  wait. 

Had  she  required  any  strengthening  in  her 
purpose,  it  was  there  outside,  for  as  soon  as  the 
lights  were  lit  in  the  bunk-house,  the  shouts  and 
laughter,  quarrels  over  cards,  all  the  noises  that 
had  frightened  her  last  night,  broke  out  again. 
But  she  did  not.  The  spirit  of  her  hardy  fore- 
fathers, the  spirit  to  do  and  dare  that  had  sent 
many  of  them  to  their  death  in  the  snowy  wastes 
beyond  uncharted  frontiers,  burned  like  a  lamp 
within  her.  If  she  shivered  on  occasion  it  was 
due  to  excitement,  not  fear.  On  the  contrary, 
she  was  possessed  by  a  vivid  exaltation,  eleva- 
tion of  spirit  that  sent  her  thoughts  flying  like 
vivid  sparks  across  the  curtain  of  her  mind. 
When  the  cow-bell  sounded  the  call  for  the  men's 
supper  she  straightened,  listening  like  a  soldier 
to  a  trumpet. 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  they  were  making 

157 


CROSS    TRAILS 

their  way  over  to  the  cook-house,  Templeton  joined 
them,  and  before  they  went  in  he  managed  to  whis- 
per, "It's  all  done;  bells  off,  sled  out  in  the  forest." 

"Good!"  she  syllabled  with  her  lips. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  its  depth  and  genu- 
ineness her  satisfaction  was  curiously  mingled 
with  another  feeling;  one  dim,  inchoate,  that  had 
in  it  regret,  remorse,  apprehension,  if  not  fear. 
The  warmth  and  cheer  of  the  fire  they  had  just 
left  leaping  brightly  in  the  o£Bce,  the  yellow 
squares  that  pierced  the  dark  mass  of  the  bunk- 
houses,  fire-flash  of  a  lantern  around  the  stables, 
rows  of  warm  lights,  golden  oblongs  that  marked 
the  cook-house  windows  and  door,  were  fenced 
off  from  the  vast  spread  of  frozen  night  which 
she  would  soon  enter  by  the  dim  cones  of  sur- 
rounding spruce.  Within  their  dark  circle  lay 
life  and  light  and  cheer;  beyond,  uncertainty, 
cold  surely,  hunger  perhaps,  possible  death  by 
frost.  A  few  tremors  would  have  been  excusable 
in  a  man.  They  were  inevitable  in  a  woman. 
But  in  the  midst  of  a  small  shiver  the  Fates, 
which  invariably  egged  on  her  purpose,  provided 
the  usual  stimulant.  While  they  were  cross- 
ing, dark  figures  were  still  tumbling  out  through 
the  golden  oblong;  discontented  voices  freighted 
the  night  with  grumblings  and  curses. 

"Miles  must  have  made  another  cut  in  the 
ration,"  Nelson  commented. 

''Sounds  like  a  menagerie  at  feeding-time," 
Templeton  added. 

us 


CROSS    TRAILS 

To  Gabrielle  it  seemed  even  worse.  Drawing 
closer  to  the  clerk,  she  thanked  her  stars  that  a 
few  more  hours  would  see  her  out  and  away  from 
it.  In  the  mean  time  she  was  destined  to  undergo 
one  more  experience,  that  of  a  kind  that  would 
cause  her  to  shiver  and  shake  at  the  thought  of 
it  during  the  long  hours  she  was  to  lie  under  the 
hay.  For  as  the  four  of  them  sat  at  table,  and 
she  was  beginning  to  plead  a  revival  of  her  head- 
ache preparatory  to  withdrawing,  there  came  a 
crunching  of  feet  outside,  and  the  door  opened, 
admitting  a  dozen  men. 

For  a  few  moments  they  stood  in  sullen  si- 
lence, faces  heavy  and  stolid,  yet  keenly  vindic- 
tive, dark  with  anger.  While  she  watched  them 
Gabrielle  received  a  vivid  impression  of  wild 
cattle  weaving  and  milling  in  their  efforts  to 
shove  one  another  to  the  front.  The  illusion  was 
heightened  by  a  crunching  of  feet  in  the  snow 
outside. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

When  Ferrier  spoke,  the  "milling"  suddenly 
ceased,  leaving  Svenson,  whose  stupidity  had 
almost  brought  death  to  both  under  the  "fall," 
out  in  front.  Dull-witted,  yet  quarrelsome  as 
he  was  stupid,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
have  picked  a  better  tool  for  the  rascals  that  had 
tutored  him  in  his  part. 

"For  why  we  have  no  milk  ban  the  caffee?" 
Delivered  in  the  high,  flat  tones  of  a  vaudeville 
Swede,  the  question  would  have  been  absolutely 

159 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ludicrous  but  for  the  real  danger  that  lay  behind. 
Stretching  a  long  arm  and  finger  at  the  canned 
milk  the  cook  was  saving  for  Gabrielle,  he  was 
going  on,  "I  tank  when  the  oflSce  have  milk  we 
gat  it,  too — "  when  the  cook  burst  into  the  argu- 
ment with  characteristic  Milesian  heat. 

"Phwat  d'ye  mane,  shoving  into  me  cook- 
house afther  a  male?  If  there's  anny  complaints 
it's  to  the  office  ye  may  be  taking  thim.  Out, 
out  wid  ye!    Out,  iv'y  last  one  av  yez!" 

Blue  eyes  screwed  into  glittering  pellets,  round 
face  puckered  in  snarling  rage,  he  was  advancing 
to  enforce  the  order  with  a  frying-pan  snatched, 
all  hot,  from  the  stove,  when  Ferrier  interfered. 
"Easy,  Miles;  let's  hear  what  they  have  to  say." 

'"Tis  the  canned  milk;  didn't  yez  hear  him?" 
Glaring  his  contempt,  he  ran  on:  "More's  the 
pity  we  haven't  a  plenty,  for  'tis  the  proper  food 
for  the  squarehead — on'y  he  should  have  it  out 
av  a  bottle.  'Twas  for  the  young  lady  I  saved 
it,  sorr,  an'  divil  a  one  but  herself  shall  taste  it 
till  Dominique  comes  back.  The  rest  av  yez, 
office  or  bunk -house,  can  take  your  coffee 
straight." 

"There's  your  answer — "  Ferrier  began;  the 
foreman's  deep  rumble  finished — "and  a  mighty 
good  one.    Clear  out!" 

Instead  of  retiring,  however,  the  crowd  re- 
sumed its  "milling."  As  its  units  shifted  and 
shuffled,  in  efforts  to  escape  the  responsibility 
entailed  by  a  position  in  front,  the  rustle  of  feet 

X6Q 


"if  there's  any  complaints  it's  to  the  office  te  may  be  taking  thim. 

OUT,    OUT    WID   ye!" 


CROSS    TRAILS 

almost,  but  not  quite,  drowned  a  sharp  whisper 
behind:  "Don't  back  down,  Svenson.  Go  to 
it.     We'll  back  you  up!" 

And  the  fool  obeyed.  "The  young  leddy.?" 
His  flat  monotone  broke  in  a  cackling  laugh. 
"Ass  it  young  leddy  that  lives  with  men  in 
affice?    Young  leddy?    I  tank  she's — " 

Before  Ferrier  stopped  him  the  cook  had 
gained  striking  distance,  and  the  insult  was  never 
finished,  for  as  the  word  trembled  to  the  fool's 
lips  he  crumpled  under  a  swashing  blow  of  the 
pan.  Ferrier  had  jumped  to  his  feet,  but  the 
foreman  was  quicker  yet.  The  heavy  bench  on 
which  he  was  sitting  flew  back  to  the  wall  from 
the  thrust  of  his  straightening  knees.  As  the 
Swede  fell,  Nelson's  huge  bulk  split  the  mass  of 
men  with  force  that  sent  the  two  sections  stag- 
gering back  toward  opposite  walls.  Through  the 
opening,  across  Svenson's  body,  Gabrielle  caught 
one  glimpse  of  Bartholomew  making  for  the  door. 
The  next  instant  he  was  kicking  at  the  full  up- 
ward stretch  of  the  giant's  arms,  then,  like  a 
stone  from  a  catapult,  he  shot  out  through  the 
door.  Swinging,  he  then  seized  Svenson  by  the 
collar,  and,  easily  as  though  he  had  been  a  kitten, 
tossed  him  outdoors  on  top  of  his  fellow. 

"Next!"  Eyes  flaming,  big  body  swelling 
with  the  lust  for  fight,  he  faced  the  others. 

Had  he  been  alone  they  might  have  tackled, 
for  the  lowering  faces  smoldered  with  hate  and 
fury.    But  on  one   hand   stood  the   cook  bran- 

161 


CROSS   TRAILS 

dishing  his  skillet;  on  the  other  Ferrier  with  the 
cleaver  he  had  snatched  from  the  meat-block. 
Behind  them  Templeton  was  coming  on  with  a 
club  he  had  picked  from  the  woodpile.  And 
just  then  a  harsh  voice  rose  above  the  buzz  of 
excited  voices  outside: 

"  Come  along,  boys !    This  ain*t  our  night  out." 

"No,  but  it  will  be  pretty  soon,"  a  second 
voice  yelled,  as,  grumbling  and  growling,  with 
backward  glances  of  sullen  anger,  the  deputation 
filed  out. 

"You  bet!  An'  when  it  is — we'll  get  you, 
both  you  an'  your — "  This  time  the  epithet 
was  drowned  in  a  burst  of  defiant  yells. 

"No!"  Seizing  Ferrier  as  he  started  to  go 
out,  the  foreman  slammed  shut  the  door.  "It's 
freezing  hard  out  there.  Give  'em  one  chance 
to  cool  off!" 

And  it  did  not  take  long.  Above  a  hubbub  of 
eager  talk  they  caught  an  occasional  observa- 
tion:   "We've  got  all  winter  to  do  it  in." 

"They're  here  tighter 'n  in  jail!" 

"Sure,  there  ain't  no  rush." 

Then,  as  the  frost  got  in  its  work,  the  hum  drew 
farther  away  and  finally  died.  By  the  time  the 
four  had  resumed  their  seats  came  the  last  bang 
of  the  bunk-house  doors. 

Pale  and  terror-stricken,  Gabrielle  had  yet  sat 
very  quietly  through  all,  and  she  managed  to  re- 
turn the  ghost  of  a  smile  when  the  foreman  en- 
couragingly patted  her  shoulder.     "You're  the 

J6^ 


CROSS   TRAILS 

real  stuff,  all  right.  I've  seen  women  launched 
into  whooping  hysterics  by  less.  But  you  don't 
need  to  be  afraid.  Those  fellows  take  longer 
than  an  eight-day  clock  to  wind  up  to  the  point 
of  real  mischief,  and  when  Dominique  arrives 
you'll  see  all  their  spite  washed  out  by  one  bowl 
of  soup.  When  they  have  some  real  beef  to  chew 
on  Bartholomew  and  his  gang  can  talk  them- 
selves thin  for  all  the  good  they'll  get  out  of  it." 

Great  as  was  her  fright,  it  was  still  subordi- 
nate at  that  moment  to  her  anxiety  concerning 
the  effects  of  the  incident  upon  her  plan.  She 
was  sure  that  they  would  never  allow  her  to  go 
back  to  the  office  unescorted.  At  first  she 
thought  of  asking  Miles  to  take  her  over.  But 
he  would  certainly  stay  there  till  the  others  came 
in.  Finally,  after  a  minute  of  heavy  thought, 
she  rose  and  addressed  the  clerk: 

"My  head  is  just  splitting.  Will  you  please 
go  with  me,  Mr.  Templeton?'* 

She  shivered  with  thankfulness  when  Ferrier 
called  after  them  as  they  went  out:  "Better 
stay  there,  Templeton,  till  we  come.  Then  you 
can  come  back  to  your  dinner." 

"What  a  shave!"  he  whispered,  outside. 

"Wasn't  it?  I  was  afraid  that  one  of  them 
might  insist  on  coming.  Now  you  can  help  me 
get  my  things  down  to  the  stable." 

The  reflections  of  any  girl  on  the  eve  of  an 
elopement  are  apt  to  be  deranged  by  excitement, 

163 


CROSS    TRAILS 

and  when  in  addition  to  the  usual  disturbances 
the  case  has  comphcations  in  the  way  of  a  hus- 
band, clear  thought  becomes  impossible.  Such 
ideas  as  floated  through  Gabrielle's  mind  during 
the  three  hours  she  lay  under  the  hay  in  the 
stable  shot  like  lightning  flashes  through  a  storm 
of  emotion. 

"He  said  that  it  wasn't  in  me.  Now  he  will 
see!"  More  often  than  any  other,  the  thought 
flew  along  the  rut  it  had  worn  in  her  brain  dur- 
ing the  last  three  weeks.  And  yet — in  the  mo- 
ment of  its  passage  she  would  experience  a  throb 
of  pity  similar  to  that  excited  by  Ferrier's  con- 
fession the  other  night. 

"He  will  think — "  Not  once  in  the  dozen  or 
so  of  times  that  this  thought  began  to  form  did 
it  reach  completion,  for  always  she  snatched 
down  the  blinds  over  her  mental  vision,  refusing 
to  see  herself  as  he  would  see  her.  "I  don't  care 
what  he  thinks.  He  brought  me  here,  kept  me 
here  against  my  will.  I'm  justified  in  using  any 
means  to  escape." 

The  "means" — Templeton,  to  wit — naturally 
claimed  a  fair  share  of  her  reflections,  and  their 
character  abundantly  proved  that  she  was  not 
nearly  so  reckless  as  might  be  judged  by  her 
actions.  He  was  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  train- 
ing, therefore  could  be  depended  upon  to  escort 
her  in  safety  to  the  railroad!  After  that — cir- 
cumstance would  take  charge.  If  he  should  hap- 
pen to  follow  her  to  Montreal,  and —    At  this 

164 


CROSS    TRAILS 

point  her  old  enemy  of  the  caves,  Gabrielle  the 
Primitive,  would  stir  and  stretch  languorously, 
indulging  herself  with  small  thrills  and  shivers. 
To  offset  which  she  would  be  compelled  again  to 
recite  the  tale  of  the  clerk's  perfect  gentility. 

When  later  her  fire  of  excitement  burned 
out  from  sheer  exhaustion,  doubts  came  flitting 
through  the  surrounding  darkness.  With  a  sud- 
den reversion  of  feeling  she  saw  herself  not  only 
with  the  eyes  of  Ferrier,  the  foreman,  the  cook, 
but  also  with  those  of  her  family  and  friends  in 
Winnipeg  and  Montreal.  If  the  news  of  the  es- 
capade ever  leaked  out.'^  Or  the  clerk  should  not 
prove  so  gentle  as  the  specifications.'*  Or  that  she 
herself  should  be  less  strong  than  she —  That 
possibility  she  dismissed  every  time  it  occurred 
with  a  summary  denial.  Nevertheless,  it  made 
itself  felt,  and,  adding  itself  to  other  doubts  that 
embraced  in  their  dark  scope  the  weather, 
trails,  possible  mishaps  of  winter  journeying, 
helped  to  produce  a  cold  reaction.  If  at  that 
time  she  could  have  been  transported  by  magi- 
cal means  to  the  safe  warmth  of  her  bed  it  is 
doubtful  whether  the  clerk  would  have  found 
her  there  when  with  slow  caution  he  opened 
the  door  three  hours  later.  Its  creak,  however, 
produced  a  second  reaction,  stirring  the  hardy 
soul  of  her  ancestors  within  her.  Creeping  from 
under  the  hay,  she  moved  forward  to  meet  him. 

Naturally,  their  hands  were  extended  before 
them,  and,  touching,  they  were  fused  in  a  strong 

IQ5 


CROSS    TRAILS 

clasp  by  an  electrical  discharge  of  feeling.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  every  drop  of  her  blood  raced 
through  her  finger-tips  to  mix  with  his,  and  the 
call  was  rendered  more  seductively  deadly  by  the 
utter  darkness  that  wrapped  them  around.  She 
did  try  to  draw  back  when  he  began  to  pull  her 
toward  him,  but  her  will  seemed  to  have  wilted. 
With  a  mingling  of  horror  and  delight  she  felt 
herself  yielding.  She  thrilled  at  the  touch  of  his 
hand  on  her  wrist.  Not  until  with  a  sudden 
clutch  he  drew  her  into  a  tight  embrace  did  a 
sudden,  terrible  fear  of  herself  produce  the  vio- 
lent reaction  that  gave  her  strength  to  wrench 
loose. 

"No,  no,  you  must  not!"  She  drew  back 
from  his  searching  hands. 

"But — "  his  whisper,  hoarse  from  passion, 
trembled  in  the  darkness. 

"No,  no!  I  say  no!  This  is — wrong.  I 
ought  to  go  back  in." 

"Oh  no!"  His  tone  changed  to  anxious  en- 
treaty. "  I  forgot  myself .  I'll  behave — do  what- 
ever you  say." 

"Really?"  It  came  tentatively  out  of  a  dark 
pause. 

"Truly." 

He  swore  to  it  with  oaths  that  were  as  sincere 
as — himself.  Nevertheless,  they  appeased  her 
fears.  She  moved  on  to  the  escape.  "How- 
ever did  you  get  out?  I  had  forgotten  that  you 
were  sleeping  in  the  ofiice." 

166 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"I  was  stumped — for  a  while,"  he  rephed  to 
her  whisper.  "Nelson  sleeps  like  a  cat,  and  was 
particularly  wakeful  after  the  row.  He  awoke 
when  I  opened  the  door,  but  I  told  him  that  I 
was  going  out  to  walk  off  a  toothache.  'Call  out 
when  you  come  in,'  he  grunted.  'Else  I  may 
have  you  half  strangled  before  I  wake  up.'" 

"We  must  hurry."  She  took  the  initiative. 
"Untie  the  ponies." 

"Wait  till  I  strike  a  match."  Its  scratch 
sounded  as  he  spoke. 

Fortunately,  it  broke,  and  she  grabbed  his  arm 
before  he  could  strike  another.  "No,  no!  It 
might  be  seen." 

"But  we  can't  see!" 

Then  and  there  the  first  seeds  of  doubt  in  him 
were  sown  in  her  consciousness.  Later  his  as- 
tonishing inefficiency  would  bring  them  to  full 
growth,  but  just  then  she  felt  only  wonder. 
"  We  don't  have  to.  Back  out  the  ponies.  Now 
I'll  take  them  while  you  bring  the  harness.  It 
is  on  the  pegs  behind  the  stalls.  We'll  put  it  on 
out  in  the  woods." 

In  comparison  with  the  utter  darkness  of  the 
stable,  it  was  quite  light  outside  with  the  re- 
flection of  the  starlight  from  the  snow,  and  the 
harnessing  and  hitching  went  with  ease.  In  the 
course  of  it,  however,  she  sustained  a  second 
shock  when  she  caught  him  trying  to  buckle  the 
hames  on  the  collar  upside  down.  Accustomed 
always  to  horses  herself,  such  ignorance  seemed 

167 


CROSS    TRAILS 

incredible.  Though  her  surprise  expressed  itself 
in  a  small  giggle,  he  dropped  another  peg,  nor 
did  the  arguments  she  had  advanced  in  his  de- 
fense with  Ferrier  help  him  with  herself. 

"You'll  pardon  me,"  she  apologized  for  the 
laugh,  "but  they  go  on  like  this." 

For  a  few  moments  after  the  last  trace  was 
hooked,  while  Templeton  stood  waiting,  reins  in 
hand,  she  looked  back  at  the  sleeping  camp. 
Down  a  long  vista  one  corner  of  a  building 
showed  a  dim  black  mass  against  the  snows. 
But  she  knew  it  for  the  office,  and  while  she 
gazed  upon  it  a  strong  sense  of  the  irrevocability 
of  her  course  burdened  her  spirit.  Aided  by  a 
vagrant  puff  of  wind,  it  caused  her  a  sudden 
chill,  and  while  she  stood  there,  trembling  with 
cold  and  foreboding,  there  flashed  into  her  mind 
Ferrier's  words: 

"She's  young  and  awfully  pretty;  can  take  her 
pick  of  a  dozen  good  fellows." 

Even  more  clearly  than  when  she  had  heard 
it,  memory  supplied  the  pain  and  regret  of  the 
tone.  Then,  aiding  the  softness  invoked  by  the 
knowledge  that  she  was  leaving  him  forever, 
came  a  flood  of  small  kindnesses,  little  consid- 
erations for  her  comfort  and  happiness  he  had 
shown  during  the  last  month.  Her  eyes  were 
wet  when  she  stepped  into  the  sled. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BEFORE  they  had  traveled  three  miles  the 
moon  began  to  shed  filtered  light  through 
the  clouds  low  down  on  the  horizon,  and  presently 
its  silver  bark  came  sailing  out  upon  a  dark-blue 
sea  flecked  with  silver-cloud  islands.  Ahead  of 
them,  the  spruce  lifted  huge  dark  cones  out  of 
black  pools  of  shadow,  linked  together  by  the  ice- 
blue  bands  of  the  trail  which  ran  before  like  a 
fairy  path  through  a  shining  land.  As  far  as  the 
river  the  "tote  trail"  ran  with  the  lumber-roads, 
and  over  its  hard,  icy  surface  the  sled  slid  with 
the  ease  and  swift  slidings  of  a  "cutter."  In 
spite  of  its  faintness  a  prismatic  circle  around 
the  moon  gave  warning  of  hard  weather;  but,  as 
neither  Gabrielle  nor  the  clerk  understood  the 
sign,  their  spirits  rose  in  proportion  as  the  miles 
slipped  by. 

For  her  unhappiness  soon  passed — and  she 
should  not  be  judged  harshly  for  it.  There  is 
nothing  so  fluid  as  human  emotion,  so  change- 
able, unless  it  be  the  bed  of  a  desert  river.  Its 
course  flows  hither  and  thither,  is  deflected,  re- 
versed, changed,  brought  back  by  the  winds  of 
destiny,   sands   of   circumstance.     Later,   when 

12  169 


CROSS    TRAILS 

circumstance  supplied  the  proper  setting,  she 
would  suffer  again.  In  the  mean  time  the  moon- 
light and  motion,  cheerful  rattle  of  pole  and  har- 
ness, merry  jingle  of  hoofs,  all  helped  to  raise  her 
spirits  with  its  sense  of  freedom,  flavor  of  high 
adventure. 

It  had  been  done  so  easily  she  wondered  at 
herself  for  having  waited  so  long.  Though  had 
she  taken  thought  she  would  have  acknowl- 
edged that  the  journey  entire  could  not  run  on 
these  swift  lines,  it  seemed  just  then  that  the 
Portage,  Winnipeg,  home,  and  friends  lay  but  a 
few  hours  away  down  the  shining  trail.  Even 
when,  after  they  crossed  the  river  and  left  be- 
hind the  black  masses  of  logs,  the  trail  pinched 
out  to  the  twin  tracks  left  by  Red  Dominique's 
sled,  it  was  still  fairly  easy-going  in  the  shelter 
of  the  woods.  All  the  way  they  chatted  and 
laughed,  bubbling  over  at  the  success  of  the  plan. 
Their  spirits  attained  the  meridian  when,  about 
midnight,  the  black  mass  of  the  "Fifteen  Mile'* 
hut  suddenly  formed  in  a  moonlit  clearing. 

In  his  desire  to  put  distance  between  them  and 
possible  pursuit  Templeton  would  have  driven 
on.  But  here  again  her  common  sense  ruled. 
"No,"  she  denied  his  suggestion.  "The  trails 
outside  will  be  bad.  We  must  save  the  ponies 
all  we  can.  While  you  unhitch  and  feed  them 
I'll  go  in  and  cook" — the  height  of  her  spirits 
could  be  gaged  by  her  happy  laugh — "supper 
or  breakfast,  whichever  it  is." 

170 


CROSS   TRAILS 

"But  supposing  they  have  missed  us?"  he  ar- 
gued. 

"Not  Hkely;  and  if  they  have  it  will  take  them 
an  hour  longer  to  make  the  distance  with  a  heavy 
team.  Before  they  could  possibly  arrive  we  shall 
have  fed  and  be  on  our  way." 

She  had  begun  to  walk  toward  the  hut.  Then, 
remembering  his  first  unskilfulness,  she  went 
back — providentially,  for  he  began  to  unhitch 
at  the  wrong  end,  dropping  the  pole  while  the 
traces  were  still  fastened.  Taking  it,  as  usual, 
for  the  signal  to  start,  the  ponies  bolted  for  the 
stable,  and  had  she  not  grabbed  the  reins  a 
smashed  sled  would  have  brought  the  journey 
then  and  there  to  an  end.  But,  though  later 
the  incident  was  destined  to  swell  previous  and 
subsequent  mistakes  into  a  real  prejudice,  she 
was  too  happy  just  then  to  accord  it  anything 
but  laughter.  Till  the  ponies  were  safely  tied 
and  unharnessed  she  stood  over  him  holding  the 
lantern.  Then,  leaving  him  to  rub  off  the  white 
fur  of  frost,  she  went  indoors. 

In  woodman's  fashion  Dominique  had  left 
kindling  and  dry  wood  piled  on  the  mud  hearth, 
and,  leaping  from  her  match,  the  fire  shed  warmth 
and  light  over  the  rough  log  interior.  Just  as  she 
had  predicted,  frozen  bread  and  bacon,  beans, 
coffee,  and  sugar  were  slung  in  grain-bags  from 
the  roof-poles,  out  of  reach  of  possible  animals. 
A  frying-pan,  coffee-pot,  and  tin  serving-dishes 
stared  at  her  from  a  rude  rack  on  the  wall.    After 

171 


CROSS   TRAILS 

thawing  out  snow  enough  for  their  coffee  and 
setting  a  loaf  of  bread  to  thaw  by  the  fire,  she 
fell  to  slicing  and  frying  bacon,  while  the  firelight 
leaped  and  flickered,  throwing  its  warm,  soft 
lights  over  the  pretty  picture  of  domesticity. 

Anywhere  it  would  have  passed  current  for  a 
young  wife  preparing  her  husband's  meal,  and 
Templeton's  exclamation  when  he  came  in  pro- 
claimed the  fact.  "By  Jove!"  he  cried,  in  his 
English  way.    "  It  looks  like  a — " 

Though  he  did  not  finish,  her  smile  filled  in  the 
gap — a  smile  that,  had  he  possessed  the  delicacy 
to  interpret  it,  conveyed  a  very  different  meaning 
from  the  one  in  his  mind.  The  pleasant  gravity, 
deep  musing,  leavened  with  small  smiles,  which 
she  maintained  while  serving  him  invested  the 
homely  office  with  the  dignity  of  a  consecration. 
A  pity  that  he  could  not  have  seen  the  wife  and 
mother  that  had  been  called  into  being  by  his 
unworthy  touch.  Within  her,  forces  that  are 
beneficent,  make  for  strength  and  beauty  of  life 
when  loosed  in  proper  channels,  forces  that  had 
been  peremptorily  checked  on  the  verge  of  re- 
lease over  a  year  ago,  were  straining  for  expres- 
sion with  the  added  power  of  long  suppression. 

Before  he  came  in,  they  had  instigated  her 
soft  dreaming  that  touched  barely  on  the  bor- 
ders of  reality.  If  he  did  follow  her  to  Montreal.'* 
And  she  were  free?  And — something  came  of 
it?  Then — through  her  mind  had  flitted  the 
thousand  and  one  pictures  of  domestic  happiness 

172 


CROSS    TRAILS 

that   form   the   staple    of    a    healthy  girl's  vis- 
ionings. 

After  the  meal  she  rose  and  drew  the  soap-box 
that  served  for  a  seat  over  to  the  fire,  there  to 
wait  till  the  ponies  finished  their  feed.  He  not 
only  followed  suit,  but  placed  his  seat  within  a 
foot  of  hers.  Her  sleeves  still  clung  above  her 
elbows,  where  she  had  rolled  them  while  cooking, 
revealing  her  arms'  white  molding.  In  the  hol- 
low of  her  left  elbow  a  dimple  lurked,  a  soft,  se- 
ductive dimple  that  came  and  went,  winked 
and  blinked  at  each  movement.  Without  actu- 
ally watching  him  she  felt  his  glances  settle 
like  a  caress  upon  it,  and,  flinching,  she  began 
to  roll  down  the  sleeve. 

"  Please— don'tr 

"Why?" 

"It's— so  pretty." 

"All  the  more  reason." 

Nevertheless,  she  desisted.  Conscious  of  thrill- 
ing a  little  under  the  caress  of  his  glance,  she  sat, 
with  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  looking  into  the  fire, 
until,  stooping  suddenly,  he  tried  to  plant  a  kiss 
on  the  elusive  dimple. 

"Oh,  don't!" 

Her  sudden  snatch  had  foiled  him,  and,  warned 
by  a  certain  sharpness  almost  of  pain  in  her  tone, 
he  made  quick  apology.     "You'll  pardon  me?" 

"It  is  my  fault.    I  ought  to  have  covered  it." 
'But — you  are  angry?" 
'No."     She   explained  the  sudden   coldness 

173 


((• 


CROSS    TRAILS 

which  he  felt  while  pulling  down  the  sleeves: 
"Only — you  aroused  an — unpleasant  memory.'* 

Unpleasant,  however,  was  a  misnomer.  Just 
as  his  lips  brushed  her  arm  memory  had  flown 
back  to  the  night  she  had  first  met  Ferrier.  While 
sitting  out  a  dance  in  the  cozy  corner  of  her 
cousin's  house  he  had  marked  the  dimple  for  his 
own  with  the  first  kiss  that  had  ever  passed  be- 
tween them.  In  spite  of  her  pique,  anger,  jeal- 
ousy she  had  not  yet  reached  the  point  where 
she  was  willing  to  surrender  it  to  another. 

She  was,  however,  rapidly  approaching  it. 
Five  minutes  afterward,  the  chill  had  passed  from 
between  them,  and  she  fell  again  under  the  spell  of 
that  dangerous  hour.  It  seemed  to  her  that  they 
were  being  drawn  together  by  some  powerful 
magnetic  force.  She  had  to  guard  against  un- 
conscious swayings  that  threatened  the  balance 
of  her  body  and  mind.  Out  of  the  tail  of  her 
eye  she  saw  the  outer  edge  of  the  box  he  was  sit- 
ting on  lift  and  sway  in  rhythm  with  her  own  im- 
pulses. Reacting  upon  her  own  emotion,  the 
knowledge  of  his,  prepared  all  for  the  inevitable 
explosion  of  feeling  that  ensued,  when,  their  time 
being  up,  he  helped  her  on  with  her  furs. 

It  happened  in  the  usual  accidental  way 
wherewith  the  Fates  beguile  poor  mortals  to  their 
hurt.  In  putting  on  her  coat  the  high  fur  collar 
turned  under,  and  while  adjusting  it  his  hands 
touched  the  soft,  warm  flesh  of  her  neck.  The 
next  instant  they  closed  under  her  chin,  and 

174 


CROSS    TRAILS 

though  in  wild  alarm  at  herself  more  than  in 
anger  at  him  she  tried  to  break  away,  he  pulled 
her  head  back  and  kissed  her  mouth. 

In  the  instant  their  lips  met,  her  body  re- 
laxed. Her  will  became  as  water.  She  swayed 
in  his  arms.  If  he  had  persisted — but,  fortu- 
nately, he  had  misread  the  motive  behind  her 
struggle,  and,  afraid  of  pressing  her  too  hard, 
he  released  her  so  suddenly  that  she  staggered 
and  almost  fell.  And,  again  misreading  the  wild, 
rich  lights  in  her  eyes,  he  warded  off  her  anger. 

"You'll  forgive  me.?" 

"You — promised."  It  came  out  of  her  after 
a  pause  with  a  little  catch  of  her  breath.  Again 
it  was  not  anger,  but  self-preservation  that  dic- 
tated her  next  words :    "  You — broke  your  word." 

"I  know.  But — my  God!  When  my  hand 
touched  your  neck  I — I  went  blind.  You'll  give 
me  another  chance.?" 

She  was  willing.  After  they  had  hitched  the 
ponies  and  were  driving  on  she  taxed  herself 
with  it,  rated  herself  soundly.  Yet  in  the  midst 
of  her  self-reproaches  she  shuddered  at  the  mem- 
ory of  that  moment  of  wild  passion,  and,  shud- 
dering, thrilled  again.  With  mingled  feelings  of 
shame,  pleasure,  alarm,  she  was  contemplating 
the  long  day  and  night  that,  with  the  best  of 
luck,  they  would  still  be  together,  when  a  re- 
mark of  his  switched  the  current  of  her  thought. 

"It  is  breaking  day."  His  outstretched  whip 
indicated  the  strip  of  gray  in  the  black -blue  of 

175 


CROSS    TRAILS 

the  eastern  sky.  "They  are  just  getting  up  back 
at  the  camp.  I'd  give  a  couple  of  sovereigns  to 
see  Ferrier's  face  when  he  finds  out  we  are  gone." 

As  she  was  still  unaware  that  he  knew  of  her 
marriage,  she  did  not  realize  the  full  caddishness 
of  the  remark.  But  if  she  missed  its  real  signifi- 
cance it  still  set  her  thinking  of  Ferrier  in  a  way 
that  would  have  been  impossible  yesterday.  For 
that  flash  of  passion  had  left  behind  it  an  illu- 
mination under  which  many  obscure  things 
stood  out  sharp  and  clear.  While  she  still 
thrilled  from  the  kiss,  trembled  at  the  thought 
of  her  own  weakness,  looked  forward  with  a  sort 
of  delicious  terror  to  the  ordeal  ahead,  the 
thought  occurred  that  this  %vas  exactly  what 
Ferrier  had  gone  through  with  Susanne. 

"And  he  wasn't  married — hadn't  even  seen 
me  then."    The  exculpation  formed  in  her  mind. 

While  the  ponies  were  taking  the  few  miles 
left  of  the  woods  at  a  fair  trot  she  thought  of  his 
temptation  with  charity  born  of  her  own  weak- 
ness. Whereas  on  all  other  occasions  the  first 
thought  of  Susanne  would  annihilate  reason,  she 
now  placed  the  girl  in  the  forefront  of  her  mind, 
recreating  her  in  all  the  pride  of  her  sexual 
beauty — big,  dark  eyes,  sensuous  mouth,  smooth 
skin,  luxurious  bust  and  limbs.  Judging  him  by 
the  enormous  force  that  held  her  helpless  in  its 
grip,  she  arrived  at  a  fairly  just  conclusion: 

"I  suppose  it  was — natural." 

In  accordance  with  the  laws  of  woman's  being, 

176 


CROSS    TRAILS 

as  laid  down  both  by  romanticists  and  preach- 
ers, the  conclusion  ought  to  have  worked  in  her 
a  change  of  heart  in  one  of  two  ways.  For- 
giving, she  might  have  turned  again  to  her  legal 
love;  or,  horrified  by  the  enormity  of  self -reve- 
lation, she  ought  to  have  brought  order  among 
her  riotous  senses — in  the  old  phrase,  have  re- 
nounced the  flesh,  the  devil,  and  his  works.  As, 
however,  she  was  neither  a  shining  example  for 
her  sex  nor  a  heroine  of  romance,  but  merely  a 
pretty  woman  endowed  with  the  customary 
human  traits,  she  did  neither.  If  anything,  the 
softening  of  her  judgment  strengthened  the  in- 
stinct that  held  her — the  huge,  amorphous  in- 
stinct that  had  behind  it  not  only  the  desires 
of  all  women  before  her,  but  also  of  all  life  back 
to  the  beginnings  of  time.  From  the  obscure 
muds  of  early  geologic  ages  some  tiny  proto- 
zoan added  its  shove  to  those  of  the  innumerable 
hands  that  were  forcing  her  onward  to  nature's 
chief  consummation — the  production  of  still 
more  life.  And  all  that  she  had  to  pit  against 
it  was  the  knowledge  and  training  of  her  own 
generation. 

Yet  she  fought  fiercely  in  an  honest  endeavor 
to  achieve  that  which  her  generation  held  to  be 
right.  "Don't  be  a  fool!"  she  lectured  herself. 
*'This  is  dangerous.    Behave  yourself." 

But,  though  she  managed  to  reason  herself 
several  times  into  a  condition  of  comparative 
quiet,  she  made  no  permanent  headway.    In  the 

177 


CROSS    TRAILS 

midst  of  her  chidings  she  would  be  seized  and 
shaken  again  with  tremors  born  of  the  instinct. 
Her  first  real  gain  came  with  a  diversion  of 
thought,  when  from  the  shelter  of  the  woods 
they  suddenly  drove  out  on  the  prairie. 

Simultaneously  the  sun  had  thrust  a  pale, 
silver  edge  up  into  the  yellow  band  of  frost 
along  the  horizon,  and  thus  across  a  wintry 
landscape  whose  far  white  reaches  were  blotched 
with  the  harsh  blacks  of  willow  scrub  and  dwarf 
poplar  they  were  able  to  see  and  judge  of  what 
lay  before  them.  Whereas,  so  far  the  woods  had 
kept  the  trail  clear  of  all  but  the  actual  snow- 
fall and  Dominique's  sled  had  broken  that, 
here  in  the  open  it  lay  buried  under  a  foot  and  a 
half  of  packed  drift.  By  virtue  of  the  same  in- 
stinct which  enables  a  wise  old  ox  to  follow  the 
windings  of  a  trail  across  miles  of  plowed-up 
prairie  the  breed  had  laid  his  new  track  almost 
directly  on  top  of  the  old.  But,  light  as  the  winds 
had  been  since  his  passing,  they  had  still  suflSced 
to  fill  in  the  ruts.  Only  the  fainter  whiteness  of 
the  snow  marked  their  path  across  the  prairies. 

"Do  you  think  we  can  follow  it?"  Reining 
in  the  ponies,  Templeton  eyed'  the  prospect  with 
dismay. 

The  question  properly  belonged  to  her  weak- 
ness, and  once  more  she  sustained  a  slight  dis- 
illusionment. Her  answer  belonged  to  his 
strength:  "It  isn't  a  question  of  think.  We'll 
have  to." 

178 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"But — there's  not  a  sign  of  a  track." 

Trained  by  the  snows  of  Quebec  winters,  her 
eye  was  better  than  his.  "  Oh  yes,  there  is.  Look 
about  twenty  yards  ahead.  Now,  don't  you  see 
it — outHned  in  faint  whitcf^" 

"Blessed  if  I  do!"  He  shook  his  head  after  a 
second  puzzled  glance.     "I  can't  see  a  thing." 

"Then  let  me  drive." 

The  ease  with  which  he  surrendered  the  reins 
did  not  help  to  restore  his  lost  ground,  and  he 
receded  once  more  when,  half  an  hour  later,  she 
asked  him  to  get  out  and  help  the  ponies,  which 
had  plunged  off  the  trail  into  a  drift  up  to  their 
necks,  and  he  demurred,  demanding  that  she 
lay  on  the  whip.  "  The  next  moment  they  were 
both  out,  upset  by  the  animals'  plunging,  and 
it  was  only  with  the  greatest  dijQSculty  they  were 
gotten  back  to  the  trail. 

A  little  farther  on,  where,  by  the  very  force 
of  the  wind  sweeping  over  clean  prairie,  the 
trail  had  been  kept  comparatively  clear,  they 
made  better  time,  and  by  the  time  they  arrived 
at  a  second  bad  place  Templeton  had  learned 
his  lesson.  Leaping  out,  of  his  own  volition,  he 
helped  the  ponies  up,  then  trudged  behind  the 
sled  until  from  a  wide  circle  northward  the  forest 
came  sweeping  back  in  a  huge  cape  some  miles 
in  width.  In  comparative  shelter,  the  trail  ran 
fairly  clear  for  the  remainder  of  the  distance  to 
"  Thirty  Mile,"  and  when  they  were  least  expecting 
it  the  hut  slid  into  view  from  behind  a  poplar  bluff. 

179 


CROSS   TRAILS 

For  more  reasons  than  one  its  black  logs  and 
snowy  sod  roof  took  on  all  the  glamours  of 
home.  Out  in  the  open  a  cliill  breeze  had  driven 
the  frost  through  Gabrielle's  furs;  her  hands 
were  so  numb  she  found  it  diflficult  to  let  go  the 
reins.  And  the  ponies  were  very  tired.  Be- 
tween exhausting  wallows  in  the  drifts  it  had 
been  one  long,  weary  drag.  Heads  drooped, 
sides  caved  in,  hides  one  mat  of  frost,  their  ap- 
pearance justified  Templeton's  comment: 

"They  are  all  in.  We  were  seven  hours  cov- 
ering fifteen  miles.  We  had  better  stay  here  to- 
night." 

Though  he  spoke  quite  casually,  some  slight 
inflection  impressed  itself  on  Gabrielle's  con- 
sciousness, stimulating  a  fluttering  excitement 
that  had  origin  in  her  fear  of  herself.  Her  an- 
swer took  out  of  the  instinct  that  urged  for  more 
time  to  think,  reason,  gain  strength. 

"A  good  feed  and  a  long  rest  will  bring  them 
around.  As  yet  we  have  made  only  thirty  miles. 
If  they  follow—" 

"With  a  heavy  team?"  he  objected  again. 
"They  could  never  catch  up.  See  what  trouble 
we  had." 

"Oh  yes,  they  could!"  Sharp  and  clear  Fer- 
rier's  face,  with  its  eager  eyes,  suppressed  force, 
square  strength,  all  intensified  by  its  frame  of 
fiery  red  hair,  flashed  up  in  her  mind,  the  more 
vividly  by  contrast  with  the  inert  good  looks  of 
the  man  before  her.    The  idea  of  his  being  held 

180 


CROSS    TRAILS 

back  by  a  journey  of  thirty  miles  seemed 
so  ridiculous  that  she  almost  laughed.  Sup- 
pressing the  inclination,  she  added:  "A  heavy 
team  would  go  slower  in  the  forest,  faster  in  the 
drifts.  We  must  go  on  to  Forty-five  Mile." 
"Well,  we  have  lots  of  time  to  think  it  over." 
Again  a  curious  inflection  threw  riot  among  her 
feelings.  While  she  shook  her  head,  repeating 
that  they  would  go  on,  that  other  part  of  her, 
the  part  which  at  all  times  and  seasons  opposed 
her  good  judgment,  accepted  the  doubt  with 
secret  exultance.  Going  in,  after  the  ponies 
were  stabled,  she  caught  herself  narrowly  ob- 
serving, and  with  a  flavor  of  hope,  a  cloud-bank 
on  the  eastern  horizon. 

"If  it  begins  to  blow  we  cannot  go  on." 
Realizing  instantly  the  nature  of  the  thought, 
she  fell  into  a  wild  panic.  "Oh,  I  ought  not  to 
have  come!"  Yet  in  the  very  moment  her  think- 
ing, judging  self  expressed  it,  that  other  rebel- 
lious part  indulged  in  glad  defiance;  nor  would  it 
down  in  the  face  of  all  her  strict  drilling.  Never- 
theless she  kept  at  it.  While  lighting  the  fire  and 
preparing  their  second  meal  she  laid  down  a 
sober  course  of  conduct  for  herself  to  follow, 
and — forgot  it  the  instant  Templeton  stepped 
inside  the  door. 

As  he  stood  for  nearly  a  minute  on  gaze  at 
the  pretty  picture  she  made  at  work  over  the 
table  his  natural  languor  was  obliterated  by  a 
glow  of  appreciation.    In  fact,  he  stood  so  long 

181 


CROSS   TRAILS 

that  at  last  she  called  him,  with  some  confusion: 
"This  is  uncomplimentary  to  my  cooking.  Sit 
down,  before  everything  freezes." 

He  made  some  complimentary  answer  and 
sat  down.  But  whereas  at  the  first  meal  she  had 
hidden  her  natural  embarrassment  under  lively 
chatter,  she  could  not  now  talk  at  all.  After 
one  or  two  trivial  attempts  she  relapsed  into 
silence,  kept  her  eyes  on  her  plate,  her  ears  on 
the  wind  in  the  chimney.  Aware  of  what  he 
would  say  when  it  began  to  moan,  she  looked 
expectantly  up. 

"It  is  beginning  to  blow.  I'm  afraid  that  we 
won't  be  able  to  go  on." 

He  had  stated  it  oppositely.  On  her  side,  she 
was  afraid  that  they  could  and  could  not.  Fear 
dictated  her  answer:  "Oh,  we  must!  If  it  blows 
a  storm!" 

"But  if  we  can't  travel,  neither  can  they." 

Once  more  Ferrier's  face  stood  out  in  her  mind. 
"Yes,  they  can.    No  storm  will  stop  him.'* 

"But  why  should  he  come  at  all.f^"  he  argued, 
with  hypocrisy,  for  he  knew  quite  well  the  answer 
she  would  not  give.  "You  are  free,  able  to 
come  and  go  at  will.    Why  should  he  follow.'^" 

"Well — '*  In  her  stammering  hesitancy, 
flushed  distress,  she  looked  for  all  the  world  like 
a  pretty  deer  cornered  by  a  ruthless  hunter.  He 
with  his  eager  air  and  glowing  face  might  well 
have  been  the  hunter.  "Well — you  know  that 
he  constituted  himself  my  guardian  in  camp.'* 

182 


"and  what  if  he  does  come?    he  won't  get  you!" 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"But  you  never  admitted  his  claim." 
"I  know."  She  raised  vexed  shoulders.  "But 
that  will  make  no  difference  to  him.  In  his  own 
mind  he  is  my  guardian,  and  if  he  wants  a  pre- 
text— you  remember  we  have  stolen  his  ponies." 
^^  Borrowed  them,"  he  returned  her  phrase. 
**And  what  if  he  does  come?"  In  his  eagerness 
he  was  leaning  half-way  across  the  table.  "He 
won't  get  you,  because" — with  a  quick  snatch 
he  seized  both  her  wrists — "because  you  are 
mine." 

It  had  all  come  on  so  gently,  from  her  first 
quiet  observation  of  him  in  the  forest  a  month 
ago,  through  days  of  communion  that  had  risen 
to  a  climax  in  the  black  darkness  of  the  stable, 
that  she  felt  neither  offended  nor  shocked.  Op- 
pressed with  a  feeling  of  inevitability  that  was 
the  stronger  for  her  past  struggles,  she  made  no 
resistance  when  he  drew  her  around  the  table — 
that  is,  none  other  than  her  persistent  pleading: 
"Don't!  Please,  oh,  'please  let  me  go!" 
She  kept  on  pleading  it  while,  now  faintly  re- 
sisting, she  was  being  pulled  into  his  arms,  while 
he  was  lifting  her  chin  till  her  head  rested  on  his 
shoulder  at  the  full  stretch  of  the  round,  white 
throat,  till  the  murmur  was  cut  off  by  his  search- 
ing lips.  But,  and  she  knew  it,  her  heart  cried 
out  for  him  to  keep  on.  For  it  was  the  end,  the 
end  of  the  long  battle  between  the  flesh  and  the 
spirit.  Her  surrender  was  sealed  by  the  sudden 
passion  of  her  returning  kiss. 

183 


CROSS    TRAILS 

The  end!  He  knew  it;  she  knew  it;  but  be- 
tween the  quahty  of  their  respective  under- 
standings yawned  a  wide  gulf.  If  all  creation, 
from  the  tiny  protozoan  to  the  last  woman,  her 
mother,  was  shoving  her  on,  the  movement  was 
still  governed  by  the  instinct  of  modesty  plus 
her  training.  The  terms  of  surrender  as  she  felt 
them  were  far  from  those  of  his  expectation. 
After  the  first  burst  of  passion  subsided,  she 
would  have  told  him  all — of  her  marriage,  her 
struggles,  temptation  that  had  led  up  to  her 
yielding,  and  if  he  had  moved  slowly,  soothed 
her  fear  of  herself,  waited  for  a  weaker  moment.'^ 
But  he  was  too  unskilful  a  roue.  From  the  mo- 
ment that  Nelson  told  him  of  her  marriage  he 
had  degraded  her  in  his  thought.  Flushed,  mad- 
dened by  her  returning  kiss,  eager  to  complete 
the  conquest,  he  shifted  his  lips  to  the  smooth, 
white  throat;  then — 

The  next  instant  she  tore  away,  holding  her 
torn  dress  at  the  throat,  broke,  thrusting  him 
from  her  with  force  that  sent  him  staggering 
back  to  the  wall.  Eyes  black  and  brilliant  as 
new  coal,  panting,  she  stood  staring  at  him  in 
anger  and  shame.  From  first  surprise,  his  ex- 
pression changed  to  injured  protest.  Then,  smil- 
ing— a  wheedling,  ingratiating  grin  that  added 
disgust  to  her  anger — he  went  on  to  commit  his 
last  and  greatest  mistake. 

"Oh,  come,  now;  don't  be  silly!  If  I  didn't 
happen  to  know — " 

184 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"ICnow  what?"    She  filled  in  his  pause. 

"That  you  are  married." 

"You— knew— that?  All— the— time?''  It 
came  out  of  her  in  little  gasps  after  a  longer 
pause. 

"Of  course  I  did!"  With  cheerful  foolishness 
he  ran  on:  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  that — well, 
you  know,  a  fellow  wouldn't  think  of  carrying 
on  like  that  with  an  innocent  young  girl." 

She  gave  a  little  gasp.  He  would  not  have 
thought  of  "carrying  on  like  that  with  an  inno- 
cent young  girl".'^  Out  of  his  mouth  it  had  come, 
the  condemnation  of  her  rebellion  against  a 
scheme  of  things  which,  just  or  unjust,  was  all- 
powerful  to  crush  the  mutineer.  In  that  moment 
she  received  her  first  insight  into  its  real  nature, 
saw,  among  other  things,  that  two  wrongs  can- 
not make  one  right,  the  folly  of  her  own  proce- 
dure, the  inner  side  of  Templeton's  character. 
Like  some  foolish  fly,  she  saw  herself  tangled  in 
this  web  of  her  own  weaving,  while  he,  the 
spider,  stood  above  her  poised  for  the  spring. 

"Just  when  did  you  find  it  out?"  It  really 
did  not  matter.  She  was  merely  fencing  for  time 
to  think. 

The  intonation,  cold  and  precise,  ought  to 
have  warned  him.  But  nothing  less  than  a  sur- 
gical operation  could  have  let  the  revelations  of 
ordinary  intelligence  through  the  thick  armor 
of  his  conceit.  He  replied  quite  glibly :  "Nelson 
told  me  over  two  weeks  ago.    He  thought  I  was 

13  185 


CROSS    TRAILS 

showing  a  bit  too  much  interest  in  you,  and  so 
tried  to  throw  a  fence  around  Ferrier's  preserves. 
He  never  imagined,  though,  that  you,  yourself, 
would  let  down  the  bars." 

Let  down  the  bars?  That  was  exactly  the  thing 
she  had  done.  Her  own  hand  had  opened  the 
inner  recesses  of  her  consciousness  to  the  defiling 
gaze  of  this  shallow  cad.  She  sickened  at  the 
thought.  The  glaze  which  dimmed  the  soft  blue 
of  his  eyes,  sickly  ingratiating  smile,  caused  her 
a  revulsion  more  vivid  than  any  inspired  in  her 
by  the  rough  men  of  the  camp.  Fleeing  from  the 
sexuality  that  there  enwrapped  her,  she  found  it 
choking  her  again  with  more  intimate  emanations. 
Instinctively  she  held  her  breath. 

With  clearness  that  was  disconcerting  by  its 
revelation  of  her  previous  blindness,  she  saw 
him  now  for  what  he  was  —  a  vain  fool,  whose 
only  thought  had  been  to  flatter  his  conceit  at 
her  cost.  So  vivid  was  the  vision  that  she  shrank 
in  dismay  before  its  consequences.  Placed  by 
her  own  act  beyond  the  protection  of  law  and 
custom,  alone  with  him  in  that  snow-bound  hut, 
she  was  at  his  will,  subject  to  such  mercy  as  he 
might  choose  to  deal.  Should  she  call,  there 
was  none  to  hear.  The  wildest  cry  would  fade 
out  on  those  frozen  wastes.  And  his  appearance 
alarmed  her  as  he  stood  watching  her  across 
the  table  with  eyes  that  glowed  like  hot  blue 
glass. 

*'0h,  come,  now;  don't  be  silly." 

186 


CROSS   TRAILS 

As  he  moved  around  she  sHd  swiftly  to  the 
opposite  side,  and  when  he  followed,  repeated 
the  manoeuver,  kept  repeating  it  whenever  he 
stirred.  All  the  while  he  kept  on  pleading  in 
thick  tones  that  filled  her  with  horror  and  dis- 
gust. Sickened  by  the  vulgarity  of  it,  she  braced 
herself  against  a  sudden  faintness  with  the  sharp 
spur  of  anger.  While  slowly  circling,  her  glance 
darted  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  a  weapon, 
and,  finding  none,  she  was  driven  at  last  to  use 
woman's  final  and  most  powerful  arm — her  sex. 

"Now  listen!"  She  hid  her  loathing  under  a 
fair  attempt  at  a  smile.  "You  have  broken  your 
promise  again.  Soon  I  shall  be  unable  to  trust 
you  at  all.  No;  stop  where  you  are.  This  will 
never  do.  We  are  not  safe — here.  At  Forty- 
five  Mile  we  shall  be  free  from  interruption." 

His  flush  of  gratification  told  of  the  interpre- 
tation he  gave  it.  Still  he  pleaded:  "There's  no 
hurry.    Let  us  stay — just  a  little  while?" 

"Not  another  minute.  The  ponies  are  well 
rested,  and  we  must  take  advantage  of  the  day- 
light. Now  go.  Do  you  wish  to  make  me  an- 
gry.'^" She  checked  his  hesitation.  "Very  well, 
then;  go  at  once  and  hitch.  I'm  dreadfully 
nervous." 

"You  needn't  be."  He  looked  back,  on  his 
way  to  the  door,  with  a  smile  that  made  her 
furious  by  its  assertion  of  possession.  "He  can't 
take  you  from  me — now.'^ 

"Can't  he?"     She  whispered  it  tensely  after 

187 


CROSS    TRAILS 

the  door  closed.  *'0h,  that  he  were  here  to  try! 
Oh,  why,  why  did  I  do  it?" 

After  putting  on  her  coat  she  stood  gazing 
into  the  fire  with  eyes  that  were  dark  and  dis- 
tressed as  those  of  a  stricken  deer  while  she 
thought  over  the  probabilities.  That  Ferrier 
would  follow  she  felt  sure.  But,  rising  late,  as  he 
did  these  idle  days,  it  would  be  long  after  day- 
light before  her  absence  was  discovered.  As  yet 
he  could  hardly  have  gained  to  Fifteen  Mile.  In 
this,  her  extremity,  she  would  have  to  depend 
on  herself. 

Presently  a  flash  of  hope  shot  through  her  dark 
meditations.  She  spoke  to  herself  aloud:  "I'm 
afraid  that  it  is  going  to  storm.  But  there  is  no 
other  way.    I'll  try  it." 

Fastening  the  fur  collar  at  her  throat,  she  went 
out,  leaving  her  heavy  woolen  scarf  in  plain  view 
on  the  table. 


CHAPTER  XV 

GABRIELLE'S  surmise  concerning  the  prob- 
able happenings  at  the  camp  ran  closely  with 
the  truth.  The  first  rays  that  had  shown  them 
the  white  expanse  of  open  prairie  struck  through 
the  white  frost  of  the  oflBce  panes  before  Ferrier 
awoke.  Templeton,  who  loved  his  bed,  had  al- 
ways been  the  last  to  rise,  and  I"errier  exclaimed 
at  the  sight  of  his  empty  blankets: 

"Well,  well!    What  struck  him.?" 

"Toothache."  Sitting  up  in  his  bunk,  the 
foreman  stretched  his  great  arms  in  a  sleepy 
yawn.  "He  got  up  during  the  night  to  walk  it 
off.    I  reckon  you'll  find  him  in  the  cook-house." 

The  fact  that  he  was  not  there  when  they  sat 
down  to  breakfast  did  not  arouse  their  suspicions. 
"Still  walking,  I  reckon."  The  foreman  laughed. 
And  as  Gabrielle  invariably  came  in  for  her 
morning  coffee  long  after  every  one  else  had 
breakfasted,  neither  was  her  absence  at  all  un- 
usual. Finally,  even  when  the  stable  roustabout, 
a  French  Cree  half-breed,  brought  in  a  tale  of 
lost  ponies  their  suspicions  went  elsewhere. 

"First  I  t'ink  you  tak'  heem,"  the  roustabout 
explained  his  delay  in  reporting.     "Then  I  see 

189 


CROSS    TRAILS 

you  an'  Mistaire  Nelson  come  out  of  the  cook- 
house, an'  know  he  ees  stole  by  some  dam'  t'ief." 

"Bartholomew?"  The  thought  occurred  sim- 
ultaneously to  both,  but  was  quickly  disproved, 
for  as  they  walked  across  to  the  stables  to  inves- 
tigate they  saw  the  red-eyed  teamster  coming 
out  of  a  bunk-house. 

"Svenson?" 

The  foreman  shook  his  head  at  the  suggestion. 
"Too  damned  stupid!  His  brains  would  never 
carry  him  that  far." 

In  fact,  they  were  in  the  stable  handling  the 
strings  of  bells  which  the  half-breed  had  found 
in  a  corner  before  first  light  was  shed  on  the  mys- 
tery. Picking  up  the  handkerchief  which  Ga- 
brielle  had  dropped  in  the  hay,  the  foreman 
looked  down  upon  it  with  all  of  that  quiet  ten- 
derness he  always  showed  to  the  girl  herself. 

"How  did  it  get  here.''"  He  had  even  asked 
the  question  before,  looking  up,  he  read  the  an- 
swer in  the  sudden,  confused  trouble  of  the  others' 
eyes.  Then  on  the  instant  the  handkerchief, 
Templeton's  absence,  connected  with  a  feeling 
that  represented  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard 
during  the  last  month.  While  his  hand  closed 
with  a  fierce  grip  on  the  kerchief  his  red-raw 
face  turned  purple  with  anger. 

"By  God!  if  I  had  thought — "  he  stopped; 
then,  after  a  quick  glance  at  the  listening  rousta- 
bout: "I'd  forgotten.  I  told  Mr.  Templeton 
last  night  to  drive  down  to  Fifteen  Mile  this 

190 


CROSS    TRAILS 

morning  and  bring  in  the  grub.  It's  all  right, 
Baptiste.    He  got  an  early  start." 

Already  Ferrier  was  on  his  way  to  the  door. 
He  turned,  going  out.  "Come  on  and  make 
sure." 

A  couple  of  knocks  at  Gabrielle's  door  and  one 
glimpse  of  her  bed,  stripped  of  its  blankets,  was 
more  than  sujQ&cient  to  establish  the  fact.  "I 
— I'd  thought" — the  foreman  again  clenched  his 
big  fist— "I'd  have—" 

"She's  within  her  rights."  Ferrier  spoke  with 
disconcerting  quiet.  His  next  words  proved,  too, 
that  he  had  not  been  nearly  so  blind  as  they  had 
thought  him.  "I  knew  that  she  found  him  at- 
tractive— and  I  didn't  wonder.  He's  a  hand- 
some chap,  well-mannered,  carried  himself  with 
an  air  that  impresses  women.  In  her  own  time 
she  would  have  found  him  out."  He  repeated 
the  foreman's  thought  of  yesterday,"  She  will  yet." 

"You  are  going  after  them?" 

"Yes."  The  very  quiet  of  the  aflSrmation 
gave  it  tremendous  emphasis.  "But  first  we 
must  cover  her  tracks.    Tell  the  cook — " 

"The  truth,"  Nelson  interjected.  "He's  a 
good  friend  of  hers  and  yours." 

"Very  well.  Then  let  him  bring  a  tray  at 
meal-times  to  the  office,  just  as  though  she  were 
sick.  But  you  can  tell  him  after  I'm  gone. 
While  I'm  getting  ready  please  have  the  light- 
est of  the  work-teams  hitched  to  a  single  bob. 
Tell  the  roustabout  I'm  going  down  to  the  river," 

191 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Going  back  to  the  stable,  the  foreman  did  some 
thinking  that  prompted  his  earnest  offer  made 
just  before  Ferrier  drove  away.  "Don't  you  al- 
low that  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  go?  Yes, 
yes."  He  hastily  admitted  Ferrier's  vigorous 
shake  of  the  head.  "It's  your  job,  only — I 
thought  she  might  take  it  a  little  easier  from 
me.?" 

"No  doubt  of  it."  But  while  conceding  it, 
Ferrier  again  shook  his  head.  "But  this  isn't 
the  time  for  delicacy.     No  one  can  act  for  me." 

"You'll  take  it  slow.^^"  The  foreman  made 
one  last  plea.    "Do  nothing  rash.^^" 

"It  won't  be  necessary.  She  can  take  care  of 
herself.  The  thing  to  be  feared  most  is  that  the 
damned  fool  will  get  himself  lost  on  the  open 
prairies  beyond  Thirty  Mile.  There'll  be  a  moon, 
thank  God!"  Gabrielle's  faith  in  his  persistence 
was  justiified  by  his  conclusion:  "I  can  follow 
on  foot  after  the  horses  tire." 

He  returned  the  big  man's  strong  hand-grip 
with  interest  that  revealed  something  of  the 
tide  of  feeling  that  surged  under  his  outward 
composure.  While  his  horses  were  covering  the 
miles  to  the  river,  almost  every  turn  of  the  trail 
recalled  some  memory.  He  remembered  not 
only  every  word  of  his  conversation  with  Ga- 
brielle  during  the  drive,  but  memory  supplied 
her  every  subtle  tone  and  accent.  Passing  the 
trampled  patch  where  they  had  been  thrown 
out  in   the   snow,  he  groaned   aloud,  for  very 

)93 


CROSS   TRAILS 

clearly  now  he  realized  how  much  the  incident 
had  to  do  with  her  flight. 

Beyond  the  river,  like  them,  he  found  it 
heavier  going.  Soon  his  clumsy  beasts  were 
snorting  their  distress.  But,  though  he  would 
fain  have  lashed  them  to  higher  speed,  he  re- 
strained the  inclination  and  pulled  them  down 
to  a  walk.  It  was,  indeed,  long  after  noon  be- 
fore, having  stabled  them,  he  entered  the  cabin 
at  Fifteen  Mile. 

All  the  way  his  mind  had  operated,  as  it  were, 
through  stormy  murk  which  was  occasionally 
lit  by  vivid  flashes  of  anger.  A  few  hot  embers 
still  smoldered  in  the  fireplace,  and  at  the  sight 
of  the  table,  set  out  with  tinware  for  two,  he  was 
seized  with  a  furious  impulse,  murderous,  vio- 
lent. Striking  the  table  with  force  that  set  the 
tins  leaping  almost  to  the  ceiling,  he  went  back 
to  the  stable  and  there  remained,  enduring  the 
intense  frost,  till  the  horses  finished  their  feed. 

Not  that  he  gained  by  it.  Just  as  clearly  as 
though  he  had  remained  in  the  house  imagi- 
nation recreated  the  meal,  showed  not  only  the 
two  at  table,  but  supplied  every  possibility  of 
the  tete  a  deux.  To  escape  the  torture  he  cut 
short  the  beasts'  rest,  took  up  again  his  chase  of 
the  white  tracks  that  writhed  ahead  like  silvery 
snakes.  While  they  were  unrolling  under  his 
bob  he  felt  more  cheerful,  for,  slight  as  the  con- 
nection was,  it  still  reached  out  through  woods 
and  prairies,   binding  him  to  Gabrielle  at  the 

193 


CROSS    TRAILS 

other  end.  He  was  taking  great  comfort  from 
the  thought  when  midway  of  the  afternoon  he 
saw  from  the  edge  of  the  woods  the  drift  fly- 
ing in  a  cloud  across  the  prairies. 

At  the  sight  of  its  white  procession,  sound  of 
its  stern  cold  hiss,  hope  froze  within  him.  Like 
the  prophet  of  old,  he  was  minded  to  curse  God 
and  die.  But  for  his  determination  that  was 
impossible.  Setting  his  ^teeth,  he  flogged  his 
horses. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SITUATED  on  the  opposite  edge  of  the  tim- 
bered cape  that  had  afforded  them  shelter 
the  last  few  miles,  the  Thirty  Mile  hut  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  prairies  which  ran  un- 
broken southward  to  Norway's  road-house,  fifty 
miles  away.  Thus,  when  Gabrielle  came  out 
she  was  confronted  with  the  same  phenomenon 
that  had  just  stricken  Ferrier  with  blank  dismay 
— the  drift  scudding  before  the  wind. 

During  the  few  seconds  she  stood  on  gaze  its 
stern  hiss  raised  acute  memories  of  her  last  ex- 
perience with  such  weather.  So  startlingly  clear 
were  they,  so  complete  in  every  detail  from  the 
first  slow  freezing  of  her  hands  and  feet  to  the 
unendurable  agony  that  followed  their  thawing 
that  she  shivered  with  apprehension.  Her  glance 
backward  at  the  hut  signified  a  sudden  weaken- 
ing; and,  though  the  next  instant  her  resolution 
was  braced  by  Templeton's  shout,  "All's  ready, 
come  on!"  the  sight  of  the  drift  compelled  a 
change  of  plan. 

"I'm  coming." 

The  clear,  high  note  of  her  answering  call  car- 
ried no  hint  of  her  purpose.    When,  helping  her 

195 


CROSS   TRAILS 

in,  he  sank  his  fingers  into  the  soft  flesh  of  her 
upper  arm,  she  did  not  shrink.  On  the  contrary, 
she  smiled  up  in  his  face,  while  exclaiming,  "Oh, 
I  have  forgotten  my  scarf!" 

"Don't  get  out."  He  checked  her  move. 
"Hold  the  lines.    I'll  fetch  it  in  a  jiffy." 

While  inside  he  did  catch  the  low  groan  of 
turning  runners,  but  the  sound  was  smothered 
by  the  drift  the  instant  the  sled  swung  around. 
Ascribing  it  to  the  ponies'  restless  stepping,  he 
paused  long  enough  to  inhale  the  faint  perfume 
that  clung  to  the  scarf,  then  found  and  kissed 
the  moist  spot  where  her  breath  had  congealed 
over  her  mouth.  Short  as  was  the  time,  it  still 
suflSced  for  the  ponies  to  gain  the  first  turn  of 
the  trail  around  a  poplar  bluff.  Thus,  when  he 
came  out  again  his  astonished  eyes  gave  him 
only  the  leafless  poplar  bending  in  the  wind,  the 
black  mass  of  the  stable  looming  dimly  in  flying 
scud. 

His  first  glance  went  southward,  in  the  direc- 
tion they  were  to  travel.  But  between  him  and 
the  dark  loom  of  a  poplar  a  quarter-mile  away  no 
object  intervened.  Inspired  with  a  sudden  be- 
lief that  she  had  drawn  the  ponies  behind  the 
stable  out  of  the  wind,  he  ran  there,  her  scarf 
fluttering  over  his  shoulder.  Then  he  saw — 
the  tracks  leading  backward  on  their  trail. 

Unable  to  believe  it  as  yet,  hoping,  believing 
that  the  ponies  had  run  away,  he  ran  after  her 
at  the  top  of  his  speed.    By  the  time,  however, 

196 


CROSS    TRAILS 

that  he  gained  the  first  turn  she  had  taken  the 
second.  A  straight  run  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  led 
on  to  the  third,  and  by  running  hard  he  suc- 
ceeded in  catching  a  fleeting  glimpse.  The  sled 
and  ponies,  going  at  a  fast  trot,  loomed  out  of 
the  drift,  and  he  saw  the  whip  rise  and  fall. 

Dumfounded,  he  stood  staring  at  the  twin 
tracks  which  led  from  him  to  Ferrier,  thirteen 
miles  away.  If  with  less  despair,  at  least  with 
greater  surprise,  he  stared  till  the  truth  was  tes- 
tified by  his  unwilling  mouth: 

"By  the  Eternal!    She's  gone  back  to  him!" 

Gabrielle  herself  would  never  have  acknowl- 
edged it — that  is,  in  so  many  words.  Though 
the  ponies  were  back-tracking  with  a  will,  and 
making  good  going  in  the  sheltered  woodland, 
though  every  mile  that  slid  under  the  sled  brought 
her  just  so  much  nearer  the  camp,  she  somehow 
managed  to  obscure  the  issue  from  herself.  Sup- 
pressing a  secret  content  with  the  sudden  turn  of 
affairs,  she  told  herself  with  perfect  truth  that 
it  would  have  been  impossible  for  her  to  have 
gone  on.  And  if  one  could  not  go  forward  nor 
stand  still,  what  was  there  left  but  the  back 
track  .f* 

"Besides,"  she  summed  this  branch  of  her  re- 
flections, "it  was  the  trick  of  a  sneak  to  leave 
like  I  did." 

Here  at  least  she  was  perfectly  sincere. 
Hindsight  is  proverbially  clearer  than  foresight, 

197 


CROSS    TRAILS 

and  when  apprehended  by  senses  that  have  been 
whetted  by  mortification  and  the  discomforts  of 
frozen  travel,  the  camp,  with  its  kindly  foreman 
and  friendly  cook,  took  on  all  the  glamours  of 
home. 

In  reviewing  her  late  experience  she  was,  how- 
ever, perfectly  sincere.  Her  flushes  of  anger, 
thinking  it  over,  deepened  into  hot  blushes  as 
she  contemplated  the  deeps  of  passion  suddenly 
uncovered  in  herself.  That  she  had  barely  missed 
catastrophe,  been  saved  by  his  bald  approach, 
revolted  by  the  animalism  against  which  her 
spirit  always  rose  in  arms,  she  frankly  acknowl- 
edged. She  knew  equally  well  that  if  he  had  used 
more  delicacy,  simply  let  her  own  feeling  run  its 
appointed  course,  she  might  not  have  escaped 
at  all.  And,  while  she  trembled  with  thankful- 
ness, there  was  born  again  out  of  her  own  weak- 
ness a  feeling  of  charity  toward  Ferrier. 

Once  more  with  deeper  pity  she  recalled  the 
pain  and  regret  in  his  voice  while  he  was  planning 
unselfishly  for  her  happiness  in  the  office  the 
other  night.  Then,  treading  on  the  heels  of  these 
softer  reflections,  came  thoughts  of  his  manli- 
ness, capacity,  strength  of  body,  will,  and  pur- 
pose, all  of  which  shone  by  comparison  with 
Templeton's  astonishing  inefficiency.  For  it 
would  have  been  unnatural  had  she  failed  to 
draw  the  contrast.  Under  the  illumination  of 
experience,  every  mistake  he  had  made  that 
day,  from  the  reversal  of  the  ponies'  collars  to  the 

198 


CROSS    TRAILS 

hazardous  unhitching,  stood  brightly  out,  were 
added  to  the  long  record  of  blunders  that  were 
the  stock  joke  of  the  camp.  It  is  to  be  feared, 
moreover,  that  just  as  previously  she  had  ex- 
tended more  charity  than  his  failings  deserved, 
she  now  viewed  them  with  undue  severity.  But, 
unfair  or  not,  the  effect  was  eminently  healthy 
for  her  mind. 

Burning  with  shame  at  the  thought  of  per- 
mitted liberties,  she  taxed  herself  again  and  again : 
"How  could  you?  How  could  you.f^  How  could 
you.f^'*  And  while  her  cheeks  glowed  in  spite  of 
the  frost  the  thought  shot  through  her  contrition 
and  shame:  "Oh,  what  will  they  think  of  me  at 
the  camp.f^    I  can  never  face  them." 

In  sudden  alarm  she  pulled  hard  on  the  reins 
and  even  made  to  turn.  Then,  checking  the 
wild  impulse  to  hide,  came  the  remembrance  of 
Templeton  barring  the  southern  trail.  "It's  my 
own  fault.'*  She  shook  the  reins  again.  "It 
serves  me  right  for  being  so  headstrong.  I  shall 
just  have  to  face  it." 

By  this  time  the  ponies  had  covered  the  five 
or  six  miles  across  the  timbered  cape,  and  there 
suddenly  opened  before  her  the  stretch  of  prairie, 
dim  with  drift,  that  lay  between  her  and  the  main 
body  of  forest.  Its  white  threat,  cold,  freezing 
breath,  forced  in  the  doubt  whether  she  would 
ever  reach  camp  at  all.  Out  of  which  was  born 
an  intense  yearning  to  find  herself  safe  and  warm 
within  its  rough  harborage.    It  rose  in  her  mind 

190 


CROSS    TRAILS 

a  cozy  picture  of  the  office,  fire  leaping  in  the  mud 
arch  of  the  chimney,  dyeing  with  its  ruddy  stain 
the  dark  log  walls,  quiet  faces  of  Ferrier  and  the 
foreman  at  opposite  ends  of  the  hearth.  She 
placed  herself  between  them,  then — the  fire  van- 
ished, quenched  by  the  icy  drift  that  smote  her 
face  the  instant  she  left  the  timber. 

For  a  mile  or  two  she  was  able  to  see  the  sled- 
tracks,  but  these  soon  filled,  presently  were  only 
to  be  discerned  where  some  bunch  of  scrub  wil- 
low held  back  the  drift.  She  had  this  in  her 
favor,  the  ponies  were  headed  homeward,  and 
with  the  supernal  instinct  that  transcends  the 
most  cunning  plainscraft,  the  plucky  little  beasts 
held  the  trail.  Neither  was  she  the  Gabrielle  of 
six  weeks  ago.  Out  of  the  tales  that  had  passed 
around  the  office  fire  she  had  picked  her  alpha- 
bet. "Leave  them  alone!  Leave  them  alone!" 
She  rebuked  in  herself  the  impulse  to  guide  them 
when  they  faulted,  and  always  they  repaid  her 
faith  by  climbing  back,  to  wrest  another  mile 
from  the  blind  grip  of  the  storm. 

Could  they  last  out.f*  There  was  the  rub.  Dire 
question,  it  was  driven  in  by  the  distressful  jerk- 
ing of  the  sled  so  different  from  the  springy  ease, 
restrained  power  of  their  usual  gait.  In  the  very 
center  of  the  blind,  white  chaos  that  reigned  be- 
tween the  woods  they  made  their  first  stop. 

Very  wisely  she  gave  them  breathing -time; 
just  sat  and  stamped  her  feet,  beat  her  hands 
till  their  flanks  ceased  distressfully  heaving.    To 

200 


CROSS    TRAILS 

gain  the  forest  before  dark — she  had  it  always 
in  mind;  and  cold  as  she  was,  and  growing  colder, 
she  humored  and  coaxed,  pulled  miles,  half-miles, 
quarters,  out  of  them  with  skill  and  restraint 
that  would  have  excited  the  admiration  of  a  vet- 
eran plainsman. 

Could  she  have  seen  the  black  line  of  timber 
coming  out  to  meet  her  it  would  have  eased  the 
suspense.  But  the  drift  drove,  a  solid  wall  be- 
tween. With  no  mark  to  gage  her  progress,  her 
anxiety  deepened  when  a  perceptible  darkening 
of  the  scud  foretold  the  approach  of  night.  To 
lighten  the  load  and  warm  her  feet  she  now  got 
out  and  walked  behind.  But  even  then  the  tired 
animals  kept  stopping  every  few  hundred  yards, 
nor  moved  till  she  used  the  whip.  When  at  last 
they  refused  to  respond  to  the  lash,  stood  shak- 
ing their  heads  in  thickening  gloom,  she  was 
seized  with  wild  panic. 

"Oh,  why  doesn't  he  come?"  The  hope  she 
had  carefully  concealed  so  far  now  burst  its 
bonds.  Moreover,  a  wave  of  indignation,  quite 
illogical  but  equally  feminine,  swept  through  her 
fear.    "  I  was  sure  that  he  would.    It's  mean." 

The  tear  that  froze  on  her  eyelashes  was  due 
more  to  wounded  feeling,  indeed,  than  fright. 
Yet,  though  it  was  most  humiliating  to  realize 
that  she  had  been  allowed  to  go  without  pursuit, 
pique  was  dominated  by  her  sense  of  justice. 
"It  is  all  my  own  fault.  I  never  even  thanked 
him  last  time.  If  I  freeze  to  death  it  will  serve 
14  201 


CROSS    TRAILS 

me  right.  I'm  hateful,  a  hateful  httle  beast,  any- 
way. But  I'm  sorry,  and  I  should  like  to  tell  him — " 

She  did  not  finish  for  the  good  and  sufficient 
reason  that  the  opportunity  to  carry  out  the 
wish  just  then  presented  itself.  Following  the 
click  of  a  neck-yoke  and  pole,  a  dark  mass  formed 
in  the  loom  of  the  drift.  Then,  stopping  of  their 
own  accord,  Ferrier's  horses  stood  rubbing  frosty 
muzzles  with  her  ponies. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  cry  out  in  sudden  joy. 
Had  she  obeyed  the  next,  she  would  have  run 
away.  Resisting  both,  she  stood  and  watched 
Ferrier's  dark  figure  come  plunging  past  the 
ponies  up  to  his  waist  in  snow.  She  was  thankful 
for  the  dusk  that  hid  her  colors.  Also,  she 
trembled  with  apprehension.  A  man,  he  was 
fairly  certain  to  do  or  say  the  wrong  thing,  and 
surely  the  situation  lent  itself  to  blundering. 
Yet  in  the  few  seconds  required  for  him  to  strug- 
gle through  the  drifts  and  reach  her  he  pulled 
his  wits  together. 

"  Had  to  turn  back,  eh?"  He  spoke  in  the  most 
casual  manner.  *'I  thought  you  would  find  it 
a  bit  too  much.  Now  that  you  have  seen  for 
yourself,  you  can  testify  to  our  sincerity." 

It  was  so  different  from  anything  she  had  a 
right  to  expect,  and  her  suspended  breath  loosed 
in  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  was,  indeed,  so  very  differ- 
ent that  she  found  it  difficult  to  find  an  answer. 
While  she  was  casting  about  for  one  he  again 
filled  in  the  pause. 

202 


CROSS   TRAILS 

"  It's  lucky,  too,  that  you  turned  back,  for  it's 
framing  up  again  for  a  big  storm.  Templeton 
concluded  to  go  on?" 

"I — I  suppose  so."  In  her  embarrassment  she 
blurted  out  the  truth.  "I — I  left  him  behind — 
at  Thirty  Mile." 

He  had  begun  to  unhitch  the  ponies,  and  his 
back  was  now  turned.  In  any  case  the  dusk 
would  have  hidden  his  first  flash  of  anger,  suc- 
ceeding smile.  "Well" — he  coughed — "there's 
grub  enough  there  to  keep  him  from  starving. 
He  can  go  on  when  the  weather  clears." 

Rendering  it  still  easier  for  her  by  his  accept- 
ance of  the  situation,  he  added,  a  little  later:  "I 
can  understand  your  eagerness  to  get  away,  and 
if  I  wasn't  sure  of  the  storm  I'd  take  you  right 
on.  But  if  you  say  so  we'll  just  go  back  to  Fifteen 
Mile  and  try  again  in  the  morning. f*" 

With  Templeton  at  Thirty  Mile  he  was  quite 
safe  in  making  the  offer.  She  replied  with  an 
attempt  at  lightness:  "You  are  not  to  be  rid  of 
me  so  easily.  I've  had  all  of  this  that  I  want.  If 
you  don't  mind,  I'd  prefer  to  go  back  to  the 
camp." 

Under  her  flippancy,  however,  she  was  unaffec- 
tedly glad — glad,  almost,  as  he  was,  which  is 
saying  a  great  deal.  With  a  touch  of  secret  pride, 
she  watched  him  unhitch  his  team,  throw  aside 
the  bob,  and  rehitch  to  her  sled,  working  with 
rapidity  that  brought  by  contrast  Templeton's 
astounding  inefficiency  once  more  into  her  mind. 

203 


CROSS    TRAILS 

When,  in  a  few  minutes,  she  found  herself  seated 
beside  him,  with  her  ponies  following  behind, 
she  drew  a  long  breath,  in  which  relief  mingled 
with  the  old  sense  of  safety  and  comfort. 

Relieved  of  the  drag  of  the  sled,  the  ponies 
kept  the  pace  set  by  his  powerful  team,  and  as 
they  moved  rapidly  forward,  bucking  the  drift, 
Gabrielle  watched  with  a  certain  awe  the  dark 
figure  beside  her.  Bent  slightly  forward,  his  at- 
titude expressed  absolute  concentration.  Curi- 
osity rather  than  timidity  prompted  her  question: 

"  Can  they  keep  the  trail?" 

"Easily."  He  replied  without  removing  his 
eyes  from  their  steady  regard  ahead.  "We  have 
the  advantage  of  my  first  tracks." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  can  see 
them?"  she  cried  out,  in  surprise. 

"Of  course;  can't  you?  Don't  try  to  look 
ahead.  Keep  your  eyes  about  five  feet  to  the 
left  of  the  nigh  horse's  feet.    Now  do  you  see?" 

"A — a  faint  whiteness  to  the  right — right 
under  them?" 

"That's  it,"  he  confirmed.  "Plain  as  a  pike 
road — providing  you  don't  look  at  it." 

"Now  I've  lost  it  again.  I  could  never  follow 
it  myself." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  were  doing  pretty 
well.  I  was  scared  stiff  when  I  came  out  of  the 
woods  and  saw  the  drift." 

"But  it  was  the  ponies.  I  just  gave  them 
their  heads." 

804 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"Well,  it  takes  some  head  to  do  that.  Ninety- 
nine  women  out  of  a  hundred  would  have  tried  to 
drive  them.  You'd  have  pulled  through,  all  right." 

"Oh  no!  The  ponies  were  tired  out.  I  was 
on  the  verge  of  despair  when  you  arrived." 

But  though  she  disclaimed  it,  his  tribute 
caused  her  a  glow  of  pleasure.  Its  warmth, 
however,  was  altogether  mental.  He  looked 
around  quickly  when  she  began  to  beat  her 
hands.  "You  are  cold?  We  shall  soon  be  in 
the  woods  out  of  the  wind." 

In  little  more  than  half  an  hour,  indeed,  the 
horses  stopped  with  their  noses  against  the  stable 
at  Fifteen  Mile.  But  by  that  time  she  was  so 
cold  and  stiff  that  she  tottered  and  fell  back  in 
her  seat  when  she  tried  to  rise,  and,  just  as  he 
had  done  a  month  ago,  he  picked  her  up  and  car- 
ried her  inside.  This  time,  however,  she  was  not 
frozen.  By  the  time  he  had  built  a  fire  she  was 
able  to  move  about  the  room. 

When,  springing  from  his  match,  the  firelight 
filled  the  place  and  showed  her  the  tinware  lying 
just  where  it  had  been  scattered  by  the  furious 
blow  of  his  fist,  she  blushed  scarlet  and  bit  her 
lip.  Nor  did  she  recover  her  composure  till  he 
went  out  to  stable  the  teams.  Undecided  she 
stood  then,  small  teeth  still  set  in  her  lip,  looking 
down  on  those  mute  witnesses  of  her  folly.  That 
it  was  her  duty  to  prepare  food  for  him  she  knew. 
But,  though  faint  from  hunger,  the  thought  of  her 
last  meal  at  that  table  filled  her  with  loathing. 

205 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"I  couldn't  eat,"  she  said  to  herself;  "but  he 
must  be  fed." 

Picking  up  the  tinware,  she  stood  for  a  moment, 
then  under  the  urge  of  a  sudden  impulse  cast  it 
all  into  the  fire — from  where  it  stared  at  Ferrier 
with  red-hot  faces  when  he  came  in.  Nor  did  he 
fail  to  notice.  Outside  it  had  been  too  dark  for 
him  to  see  her.  But  as  she  now  moved  around 
the  table,  setting  it  with  other  dishes  from  the 
wall -rack,  he  probed  her  face  with  stealthy- 
glances.  A  great  deal  of  mortification,  even  more 
shame,  a  great  weariness,  these  it  returned  to  his 
search,  and  while  he  studied  them  covert  appre- 
hension died  out  of  his  own.  Without  words, 
without  even  her  knowledge,  the  question  which 
had  made  of  that  day  one  long  torture  received 
satisfactory  answer. 

"  He  can  go — now,"  was  the  form  it  took  in  his 
thought. 

That  left  him  free  to  talk.  "They  are  tired, 
but  a  long  way  from  all  in,"  he  replied  to  her  in- 
quiry about  the  ponies.  "After  a  good  feed  and 
a  few  hours'  rest  they  will  run  into  camp  on  two 
legs." 

"Then  you  intend  to  go  on?"  she  asked. 

If  unable  to  give  the  real  reason  that  to  return 
during  the  night  would  cover  her  absence,  he 
managed  one  equally  as  good.  "Yes.  The  food 
question  is  becoming  quite  serious.  If  we  can 
get  this  grub  into  camp  for  breakfast  it  will  ease 
things  up  for  a  while." 

206 


CROSS   TRAILS 

The  next  instant  he  settled  her  compunctions 
concerning  the  meal:  "Cook  all  you  want  for 
yourself.  I'm  not  hungry."  Which  would  have 
been  more  correctly  put  had  he  said  that  he 
was  no  more  minded  to  eat  there  than  she 
herself. 

He  made  her,  however,  drink  a  cup  of  hot  tea, 
and  while  she  was  drinking  it  proceeded  to  set 
her  mind  at  rest  concerning  the  tete  a  deux  which 
appeared  inevitable.  "We  won't  start  till  late. 
In  the  mean  time  you  must  sleep." 

By  the  time  she  had  finished  her  tea  he  had 
arranged  a  comfortable  couch  on  a  bunk  with 
the  furs  and  blankets  from  the  sled,  and  before 
she  lay  down  he  made  her  remove  her  arctics  and 
moccasins,  which  he  set  to  dry  by  the  fire.  "  Start 
warm  and  you'll  keep  warm,"  he  quoted  the 
northern  maxim.  "I'll  heat  stones  while  you 
sleep,  for  your  hands  and  feet." 

Picking  up  a  tattered  copy  of  an  old  magazine, 
he  turned  his  back  and  read,  or  pretended  to,  till 
a  long  slow  sigh  told  him  that  she  had  fallen 
asleep.  After  feeding  the  fire  till  its  light  plainly 
revealed  her  face  he  sat  watching  her,  put  in 
two  long  hours  in  silent  contemplation  of  the 
pretty  nose,  long  dark  lashes  on  the  soft,  pink 
cheek,  all  framed  in  a  brown  tangle  of  hair — 
though  it  would  never  have  been  suspected  from 
his  abstracted  gaze  at  the  fire  when  at  his  call 
she  finally  awoke. 

"Sorry  to  break  your  sleep,"  he  apologized. 

207 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"I  gave  you  every  second  I  could.  The  horses 
are  hitched  and  waiting." 

It  was  all  in  line  with  his  previous  care  and 
consideration.  Deeply  moved  by  it,  her  hands 
trembled  so  that  she  could  hardly  lace  her  moc- 
casins. Gaining  upon  her  at  the  sight  of  the  hot 
stones,  all  ready  for  her  hands  and  feet,  other 
small  arrangements  for  her  comfort,  the  feeling 
of  gratitude  expressed  itself  in  the  sudden 
thrusting  out  of  her  hand. 

"You  have  been — so  good!" 

If  he  had  given  way  to  his  impulse  this  history 
might  then  and  there  have  achieved  a  pleasant 
termination.  But  the  disaster  that  followed  so 
precipitously  upon  the  loosing  of  a  like  impulse 
the  other  day  was  still  fresh  in  his  mind.  Though 
he  trembled  with  emotion  that  complemented 
her  own,  he  remembered  and  refrained.  And 
perhaps  he  was  wise.  Sensing  the  impulse,  she 
had  already  begun  to  shrink.  Then,  by  some 
strange  contradiction,  a:i  they  went  out  together, 
disappointment  mixed  curiously  with  a  feeling  of 
relief. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TIPTOEING  through  the  dark  office  shortly 
after  midnight,  Gabrielle  re-entered  the  Httle 
room  she  had  left  as  she  thought  forever.  Not  by 
the  slightest  stir  did  the  foreman — who  heard 
her  quite  plainly — betray  the  fact  that  he  was 
awake,  but  no  sooner  did  she  place  her  hand  on 
the  bed  than  she  discovered  his  thoughtful  care 
in  the  new  blankets  with  which  it  was  spread. 
It  was  as  good  as  a  welcome.  When  she  snug- 
gled under  them  the  thick,  soft  folds  settled 
around  her  like  a  warm  caress,  a  mute  answer  to 
the  question  she  had  asked  on  the  trail:  "Oh, 
what  will  they  think  of  me.^"  Happy  in  it,  she 
soon  dropped  asleep. 

After  being  up  all  the  previous  night  she  slept 
heavily,  the  drugged  sleep  of  nervous  and  physi- 
cal exhaustion,  yet  toward  morning  there  en- 
tered into  her  consciousness  a  huge,  angry  voice, 
a  demoniac  voice,  whose  compass  ran  from  the 
deepest  diapason  to  a  note  shrill  as  the  scream 
of  a  frightened  woman.  For,  whereas  the  worst 
of  storms  had  power  to  draw  from  the  forest  no 
more  than  a  heavy  moaning,  in  this,  the  wildest 
blizzard  of  that   wildest  of   winters,   the  great 

209 


CROSS    TRAILS 

trees  bent  like  willow  wands,  writhed  and  tossed; 
dim,  ghostly  shapes  in  the  smothering  drift. 
Awakened  at  last  by  their  roaring  protest 
against  the  bully  wind,  Gabrielle's  startled  ears 
were  assailed  by  the  clash  of  rending  limbs,  boom 
of  fallen  trees,  wild  squealing  of  tortured  copse 
and  brake. 

Rubbing  the  sleep  from  her  eyes,  she  watched 
the  rich  trove  of  soft  snow  that  lay  three  feet 
deep  on  the  floor  of  the  forest,  whirled  by  the 
wind  in  smothering  clouds  that  enveloped  the 
buildings  and  drove  fine,  white  sprays  through 
every  crack.  It  had  grown  much  colder.  Along 
the  eaves  a  dozen  jets,  white  as  steam,  pufiFed 
through  the  interstices  of  the  roofing  sods.  The 
hay  between  the  poles  was  festooned  with  a  glit- 
tering lace  of  white.  The  deep  breath  she  took 
with  a  yawn  bit  her  lungs  like  acid.  Shivering, 
she  huddled  again  under  the  clothes. 

"Don't  get  up,"  the  foreman  called  to  her. 
"It's  about  sixty-five  below  outside  and  almost 
as  much  inside.  I've  just  started  a  fire,  and  after 
it  warms  up  a  bit  we'll  go  out,  and  you  can  come 
out  here  to  dress. 

"Storming.?"  he  repeated  her  question.  "I 
should  say  it  was.  It's  lucky  you  changed  your 
mind  and  came  back." 

He  could  not  see  the  small  smile  called  forth 
by  his  tact,  for  not  only  did  the  partition  inter- 
vene, but  only  the  tip  of  her  nose  showed  out- 
side the  clothes.    He  did  catch  the  hearty  ring 

210 


CROSS    TRAILS 

in  her  answer,  however:  "I'm  glad,  awfully 
glad,  that  I  did."  If  a  touch  of  shame  and  con- 
trition chastened  her  feeling  it  was  good  for  her. 
It  prompted  her  honest  answer  to  Nelson's  fur- 
ther inquiry  concerning  her  health:  "I  feel — 
like  the  returned  prodigal  at  the  sight  of  the  fatted 
calf." 

His  rumbling  laugh  shook  the  partition.  "A 
bit  of  bacon's  the  best  we  can  do.  You  shall  have 
it,  sliced  thin  and  fried  brown,  when  we  come» 
back  from  breakfast." 

The  wooden  door-bolt  clicked  frostily  just  then 
in  its  socket,  and  the  prodigal  feeling  took  deeper 
hold  as  Ferrier's  voice,  in  hushed  tones,  floated 
over  the  partition:  "I  brought  her  hot  water 
to  wash  with.  Set  it  on  a  box  here,  close  to  the 
fire.  That's  good.  Now  we  had  better  go  on 
over." 

"And  remember,"  the  foreman  called  a  warn- 
ing back  from  the  door,  "you  are  not  to  step 
outside.    We  will  bring  your  breakfast  over." 

"Oh,  that  will  never  do!"  she  exclaimed,  after 
the  door  closed,  in  humility  of  spirit  born  of  her 
deep  repentance  for  all  the  trouble  she  had 
caused  them.  "I  must  dress  quickly  and  go 
after  them." 

But  when,  having  made  her  toilet  in  comfort 
before  the  big  fire,  she  opened  the  door,  she  re- 
coiled from  the  bitter  blast  that  instantly  froze 
the  tip  of  her  nose  and  put  a  wee  white  spot  on 
each  cheek.     Disconcerted,  she  returned  to  the 

211 


CROSS   TRAILS 

fire,  and  had  no  sooner  rubbed  out  the  frost- 
bites than  the  two  returned. 

A  hot  pan  had  kept  her  breakfast  warm  in 
transit,  and  when  Ferrier  hfted  it,  reveahng 
toast  and  tea,  bacon  thinly  sKced,  finally  a  pyra- 
mid of  hot  cakes  that  rose  in  diminishing  size  to 
a  small  button,  she  recognized  it  at  once  for  the 
fatted  calf.  "The  trouble  the  poor  man  took!" 
she  exclaimed.  Then,  spying  the  tin  of  condensed 
milk  which  stood  sentry  over  all,  she  added  with 
a  touch  of  remorse:  "But  I  wish  he  would  keep 
that  for  the  men.  I  like  my  tea  just  as  well  with- 
out it.    They  need  it  more  than  I." 

"Nonsense!"  Ferrier  laughed,  the  first  laugh 
she  had  heard  from  him  since  she  entered  the 
camp.  "The  few  cans  Miles  held  out  for  you 
wouldn't  give  them  a  taste  all  round." 

"Not  a  taste,"  the  foreman  backed  him  up. 
"They'd  lap  it  all  up  at  one  meal." 

While  they  were  breakfasting  he  had  informed 
Ferrier  of  fierce  bickerings  over  the  food  the  pre- 
ceding day,  and  now,  just  as  they  were  discuss- 
ing the  subject,  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
In  answer  to  Ferrier's  "Come!"  half  a  dozen  men 
filed  in.  During  the  few  seconds  they  stood 
"milling,"  before  the  boldest  spirit  was  forced 
to  the  front,  Ferrier  noted  that  not  one  of  them 
belonged  to  the  natural  malcontents.  All  were 
dependable  fellows  who  in  ordinary  times  went 
quietly  about  their  tasks  without  complaint. 
This  fact  supplied  real  cause  for  alarm,  and  Fer- 

212 


CROSS   TRAILS 

rier's  quick  glance  at  the  foreman  expressed  his 
iin  easiness.  ''" 

"Well,  Teetzel,  what  can  we  do  for  you?"  In 
accordance  with  camp  punctilio  the  foreman 
spoke. 

"It's  about  the  grub."  The  leader,  a  stocky- 
fellow,  broad  almost  as  he  was  high,  with  an 
honest  look  on  his  raw,  red  face,  glanced  around 
at  his  fellows.  Encouraged  by  their  nods,  he 
went  on:  "We  ain't  standing  for  no  sech  rough- 
house  business  as  was  pulled  off  t'other  night. 
But  we  have  been  sorter  sizing  up  the  stores,  an' 
we  don't  see  why  there  ain't  enough  to  serve  a 
full  ration  till  Dominique  comes  in." 

"Yes,  if  he  comes  to-morrow — or  the  next 
day."  The  foreman  nodded.  "But  it's  pretty 
safe  bet  that  he  won't.  I  don't  have  to  tell  you 
what  he's  up  against — stuck,  upset,  reloading, 
snatching  his  sleds  along  through  the  drifts  thirty 
and  forty  yards  at  a  time.  He'll  travel  the  dis- 
tance five  times  over  before  he  arrives,  without 
counting  this  storm,  which  will  sure  hold  him 
back  another  two  days.  According  to  my  reck- 
oning, he's  crawling  along  somewhere  between 
Norway's  and  Sixty  Mile.  And  listen!"  In 
the  pause  the  cabin  shook  under  the  rude  buffet- 
ing of  the  screaming  wind.  "That  ought  to  be 
answer  enough.  There's  not  the  slightest  chance 
of  his  landing  before  the  end  of  the  week." 

To  a  fair  mind  his  argument  would  have 
seemed  unanswerable.     But  he  was  not  appeal- 

213 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ing  to  minds.  Gross,  heavy  animals,  these  men 
were  governed  altogether  by  the  stomach  which 
urged  them  to  feed  fat  now,  let  come  what  may. 
Shuffling  uneasily,  the  deputation  communed  in 
discontented  whispers. 

"Then  we  don't  get  any  increase?"  The 
leader  broke  a  sudden  pause. 

"Can't  do  it,  Teetzel."  The  foreman  shook 
his  head.  "If  this  storm  doesn't  let  up  to- 
morrow we  shall  have  to  cut  the  ration  again." 
Throwing  all  of  his  natural  kindness  into  his 
manner  and  tone,  he  concluded  with  an  appeal. 
"Now,  don't  reckon  that  we  are  thinking  you 
have  enough  to  eat.  If  you  had — well,  you 
wouldn't  be  allowed  to  lie  idle  in  camp.  All  I 
say  is  that  it  isn't  going  to  kill  you  to  take  up 
another  hole  in  the  belt  and  help  us  tide  over 
the  pinch  for  a  few  more  days." 

It  was  wasted.  That  was  proved  by  the 
growls  and  grumbles,  the  backward  glances  at 
Gabrielle's  breakfast,  scraps  of  talk  carried  in 
by  the  wind  through  the  open  door. 

"Bartholomew  was  right!" 

"You  bet  he  was!" 

"Fine  words  to  fill  empty  bellies — '* 

"  With  them  eating  private  in  the  office." 

The  remainder  was  cut  off  by  the  closing  door, 
but  the  two  had  heard  enough. 

They  had  forgotten  Gabrielle  in  their  serious 
consideration  of  the  situation.  Now  she  broke 
in:    "Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!    They  looked  so  hungry. 

in 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Their  eyes  just  ate  up  my  food.  I  feel  as  if — I 
were  robbing  them." 

"Nonsense!"  Ferrier  laughed,  and  again  the 
foreman  supported  him.  "The  bit  you  eat 
doesn't  amount  to  a  sparrow's  peeking.  Light 
right  into  those  hot  cakes,  and  don't  leave  one 
of  them,  unless  you  want  to  offend  the  cook. 
Don't  you  bother.  We'll  find  some  way  of  feed- 
ing them  for  another  week." 

It  was,  however,  no  easy  problem.  While 
they  talked,  considering,  rejecting,  suggesting, 
it  seemed  to  the  listening  girl  that  the  shadow 
of  starvation  deepened  over  the  camp,  embodied 
itself  in  a  huge  amorphous  shape  that  roared 
with  the  strident,  threatening  voice  of  the  storm. 
Her  eyes  darkened  and  dilated  at  Ferrier's  ques- 
tion: 

"Do  you  think  that  they  might  try  to  rush  the 
stores.'^" 

"First  thing  we'll  have  to  guard  against,"  the 
foreman  answered.  Then,  in  perfect  uncon- 
sciousness of  the  consequences  that  would  fol- 
low, he  suggested,  "Why  not  bring  them  in  here 
to-night.?" 

"Good  idea."  Ferrier  accepted  it  at  once. 
"We'll  move  them  after  dark.  I'll  go  over  now 
and  tell  the  cook." 

All  this  time  Gabrielle  had  not  eaten  a  morsel, 
and,  noticing  it  after  Ferrier  had  gone  out,  the 
foreman  with  rough  kindness  bade  her  go  on 
with  the  meal.    But  she  was  still  in  the  shadow  of 

215 


CROSS    TRAILS 

impending  hunger  and  want.  She  shivered  from 
apprehension  more  than  cold.  "It  is  really  seri- 
ous now.f^" 

"We  have  grub,  on  short  rations,  for  just  five 
days,"  he  answered,  between  puffs  of  his  pipe. 
"  There's  about  two  days'  more  at  Forty-five  and 
Sixty  Mile.  If  the  weather  permits  I  shall  go 
out  myself  to-morrow  and  get  it." 

"Oh,  but — then — "  she  broke  off,  blushing. 
"You  know — he  is  there." 

In  spite  of  his  best  efforts  to  suppress  it,  a 
little  grin  broke  out  on  his  face.  So  infectious 
it  was,  with  its  mixture  of  humor  and  sympathy, 
she  could  not  escape  the  contagion.  She  laughed 
through  her  blushes.  "At  least  he  was  when 
I  left." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say" — pipe  suspended 
between  thumb  and  forefinger,  he  looked  at  her 
while  the  grin  spread  over  his  face — "you  don't 
mean  to  say — " 

"Yes,  I  do."  With  mischievous  demureness 
she  confessed:  "He  went  back  in  to  get  my 
scarf.    When  he  came  out  again — I  wasn't  there." 

His  deep  laugh  drowned  for  the  moment  the 
roar  of  the  storm,  and  for  fully  a  minute  there- 
after a  train  of  grins  disrupted  the  solemnity  of 
his  morning  smoke.  Her  expression,  watching 
him,  gradually  changed  from  demure  amusement 
to  timid  suspense.    Presently  she  spoke: 

"I  suppose  you  were — dreadfully  shocked.'*" 

"Not   a   bit."      He   emphatically   shook   his 

216 


CROSS   TRAILS 

head.  "You  had  to  have  some  one  to  drive 
you." 

"To  drive?  To  drive?  Why— I  had  to  do 
everything  myself."  He  had  to  laugh  at  her 
pretty  disgust.  But  it  quickly  ^,  changed  to 
strained  distress.  "But — you  know,^  it  wasn't 
for  that,  anyway,  that  I  took  him.  It  was  be- 
cause— "  she  paused,  looking  at  him  in  distress 
through  her  blushes.  But  the  desire  for  honest 
confession  prevailed,  and  she  went  on:  "I  tried 
to  bind  myself  to  the  truth.  But  I  can  see  it  all 
now.  I  took  him  because  I — liked  him.  We — 
eloped." 

"Now,  look  -  a  -  here !"  Leaning  forward,  he 
drove  in  every  word  with  a  tap  of  the  pipe  on 
the  palm  of  his  hand.  "You're  not  to  be  blamed 
for  that.  Right  from  the  beginning  I  saw  what 
was  coming  and  tried  to  head  it  off.  You  gave 
me  some  shivery  moments,  but  I  knew  that  if 
you  had  time  you  would  find  him  out,  that  he'd 
be  sure  to  give  you  a  peep  into  his  empty  in- 
sides." 

"But — but" — she  asked  it  in  terror — "but 
why  did  I  like  him.'^  Surely  it  shows  something 
wanting  in  myself." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  cheered  her.  "5e  had 
it  all:  looks,  youth,  nice  manners,  everything  a 
girl  likes  on  the  outside.  The  experience  wasn't 
wasted.    You  have  learned  a  good  lesson  in  life.'* 

She  looked  up,  comforted,  but  still  sighing. 
"It  is  very  different,  isn't  it — I  mean  real  life 
15  217 


CROSS    TRAILS 

from  the  imitation  one  gets  in  books?  Yes,  I 
think  that  I  have  learned — something." 

"Charity?"  His  kind  eyes  gleamed  with  quiz- 
zical inquiry. 

"Yes."  After  a  pause  she  continued:  "But 
isn't  it  queer?  Yesterday  I  felt — was  sure — 
that  I  could  forget  and  forgive.  But  this  morn- 
ing, now  that  the  impression  has  weakened,  I'm 
— not  so  certain." 

"That's  inconsistent." 

"I  know  it."  She  wrinkled  her  brows.  "It's 
this  way,  I  think:  though  I  have  been  made 
to  feel  my  own  weakness,  I  should  like  him  to 
have  been  strong." 

"And  isn't  he  strong?"  A  note  of  indignation 
warmed  his  tone.  "Let  me  tell  you,  young  lady, 
that  it  takes  a  mighty  strong  man  to  break  short 
off  like  he  did — one  very  much  in  love  to  boot." 

"Then  you  think  that  he — still  loves  me?" 

"Now  you  are  joking." 

Confused  by  his  critical  regard,  she  turned  her 
eyes  on  the  fire,  and  silence  fell  between  them. 
Through  the  blue  haze  of  tobacco  -  smoke  he 
studied  her  thoughtful  face  with  kindly,  critical 
eyes.  "Still  a  bit  jealous — of  the  other.  But — ■ 
she's  coming." 

Looking  up  shortly  thereafter,  her  lips  trembled 
toward  speech,  but  before  the  words  issued  the 
door  opened  and  Ferrier  came  in.  "Miles  will 
have  everything  ready,"  he  announced.  "We'll 
begin  right  after  supper." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THAT  evening  the  wind  dropped  even  more 
suddenly  than  it  had  arisen;  so  suddenly, 
indeed,  that  the  business  of  transferring  the  stores 
had  to  be  postponed  till  the  camp  had  gone  to  its 
bed.  Contributing  her  share  to  the  labor  after 
it  began,  Gabrielle  acted  as  doorkeeper,  opening 
it  for  the  men  when  they  brought  in  their  loads. 
Accordingly,  she  was  still  up  when  the  foreman 
declared  his  plans  for  the  morrow. 

"If  it  holds  fair  I'll  take  the  ponies  and  bring 
the  grub  in  from  the  huts." 

He  said  it  as  they  were  going  out  for  the  last 
load,  and  when  he  returned  a  minute  ahead  of  the 
others  she  took  the  opportunity  to  put  the  ques- 
tion in  her  mind:  "What  will  you  do  with — 
himr 

"Now,  don't  you  bother."  He  took  one  little 
hand  between  his  great,  rough  paws.  "If  the 
weather  settles  I  shall  take  him  on  to  Sixty 
Mile." 

The  others  were  coming  and  there  was  no  time 
for  more.  Nor  was  it  needed.  If  not  happy,  she 
went  to  bed  satisfied. 

There   could   be   no   better   augury   of   clear 

219 


CROSS    TRAILS 

weather  than  the  deep,  almost  weird  silence 
which  brooded  over  the  dark  camp  all  night. 
Morning  broke  fair  and  frosty,  and  so  still,  so 
very,  very  still,  that  the  reports  of  frost-riven 
trees  rang  like  pistol-shots  in  the  hush  of  the 
forest.  Rising  early.  Nelson  dressed  so  quietly 
that  Gabrielle  never  even  awoke.  But  Ferrier 
did.  Dressing  with  equal  stealth,  he  helped  the 
other  to  hitch  and  get  away. 

"About  that  fellow — "  he  began,  after  a  glance 
upward  at  the  stars  which  had  begun  to  pale  in 
the  dawn. 

"I  made  up  his  pay-check  last  night."  Nel- 
son carried  it  on  from  the  pause.  "Cameron 
will  cash  it  for  him  at  the  Portage.  If  it  holds 
fair  I'll  take  him  on  to  Sixty  Mile.  Then  when 
Dominique  comes  along  he  can  follow  the  tracks 
out." 

"Good!"  Ferrier  nodded  approval.  Just  be- 
fore the  other  drove  off  he  added:  "You  might 
give  him  a  hint  that  it  will  be  healthy  for  him  to 
move  on  before  we  come  down  in  the  spring." 

"Leave  it  to  me."  The  foreman's  threaten- 
ing growl  was  sufficiently  informing  without  the 
following  words:  "After  I've  finished  with  him 
he  won't  be  able  to  get  out  too  quick." 

"Thanks.     You've  been  mighty  good,  Nels." 

The  tone  carried  more  than  the  words,  and 
its  quiet  gratitude  was  amply  repaid  by  the  bone- 
cracking  squeeze  of  the  giant's  hand.  "Non- 
sense!"   He  laughed.     "Things  sure  looked  bad 

^20 


CROSS    TRAILS 

for  a  while,  but  it  has  all  turned  out  for  the  best. 
Only  be  careful  and  don't  frighten  her  with  any 
more  brash  plays."  With  that  intuition  which 
always  seemed  so  foreign  to  his  robust  frame 
he  argued:  "You  know  how  she  must  be  feeling 
— kinder  sick,  sore,  and  ashamed.  She'll  need 
a  little  time  to  settle  and  forget.  If  you  go  easy 
I'll  miss  my  guess  if  she  don't  come  walking  into 
your  camp  of  herself." 

Making  his  way  back  to  the  office,  Ferrier  en- 
tered so  quietly  that  Gabrielle  was  not  disturbed. 
Lying  in  his  bunk  in  his  clothes,  he  listened  for 
her  breathing,  and  so  still  it  was  that  he  caught 
also  the  small  sighs  that  spaced  its  slow  sweet 
rhythm. 

His  heart  had  leaped  at  the  foreman's  cheering 
words.  It  swelled  now  with  tenderest  feeling. 
Out  of  the  travail  and  sorrow,  jealousy,  re- 
morse of  the  past  year  was  born  a  moment  of 
peace,  one  of  those  rare  moments  when,  purged 
of  all  that  is  earthly,  the  spirit  rises  to  its  highest. 
While  his  thoughts  quested  hither  and  thither, 
building,  contriving  for  her,  his  face  took  on  a 
radiance  that  she  noticed  when  she  came  out, 
an  hour  later  to  find  her  breakfast  set  out  again 
before  a  roaring  fire. 

In  spite  of  its  brightness  his  welcoming  smile 
carried  with  it  a  touch  of  pathos,  a  suggestion 
of  weariness  and  long  waiting,  that  caused  her 
a  twinge .  of  pity.  Drinking  her  coffee,  she  fell 
into  soft  musings  after  he  had  gone  out,  tender 

221 


CROSS    TRAILS 

musings  which  set  the  dimples  twinkhng  at  the 
corners  of  her  mouth.  For  a  long  time  they  came 
and  went  before  they  were  wiped  out  by  a  thought 
that  proved  the  foreman's  intuition. 

"Oh,  stop — not  yet!"  The  murmured  ex- 
clamation bore  out  his  feeling  that  her  late  ex- 
perience would  have  to  dwindle  and  fade.  "It 
is — sacrilege  r' 

Nevertheless,  all  that  day  they  kept  recurring, 
the  thoughts  of  her  virginal  love;  they  went  with 
her  that  night  to  her  bed,  passed  even  into  her 
dreams,  softened  the  smile  she  returned  to  his 
greeting  when  she  appeared  next  morning. 

"He'll  be  gone  two  more  days,"  he  replied  to 
her  question  about  Nelson.  "In  the  mean  time 
I  will  do  my  best  to  fill  his  place." 

She  looked  up  quickly,  suspecting  a  reproach, 
but  no  shadow  of  pique  leavened  his  smile.  It 
was  a  serious  statement  of  his  knowledge  of  how 
great  a  place  the  big  man  had  come  to  have  in 
her  life.  She  felt  that  he  was  really  considering 
himself  in  the  light  of  a  substitute  when  he  asked 
if  she  would  care  to  go  for  a  walk. 

"Yes."    She  accepted  at  once. 

"Plenty  of  time.  I  have  to  go  out  and  do  a 
few  chores." 

Having  donned  her  wraps,  she  sat  down  in 
front  of  the  fire  to  wait,  and  in  a  minute  had 
fallen  again  into  a  fit  of  musing.  It  was  not 
destined,  however,  to  endure,  for  following  the 
bang  of  a  bunk-house  door  came  the  crunch  of 

222 


CROSS    TRAILS 

footsteps  approaching  the  office.  Intuitively  she 
sensed  that  they  were  not  Ferrier's,  and  when 
they  paused  outside,  she  rose  and  stood  waiting, 
pale  with  apprehension.  Her  glance  went  to  the 
stores,  which  stood  uncovered  as  yet,  just  where 
they  had  been  piled  last  evening.  Her  glance 
even  roamed  the  shelves  searching  for  a  cover. 
Then  the  door  opened  and  Bartholomew  entered. 

"Nelson  in?"  he  asked,  closing  the  door. 

Since  her  return  she  had  felt  only  a  sense  of 
safety,  luxurious  comfort  in  the  home-coming. 
But  now,  while  she  returned  the  man's  red  stare 
from  big,  frightened  eyes,  she  was  seized  again 
with  the  old  fear.  Like  the  prairie  drift,  it  whirled 
about  her,  wrapped  her  in  a  cloud  of  evil;  so  vivid 
was  the  sensation  that  she  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"He  has  gone  away."  In  the  intensity  of  her 
desire  to  be  rid  of  him  she  let  it  out. 

The  next  instant  she  read  her  mistake  in  the 
sudden  gratification  that  flashed  up  in  his  face. 
"So  that  was  his  tracks  leading  out  from  the 
stable  yesterday?    Gone  out  for  grub,  eh?" 

His  considering  look  went  from  her  to  the 
stores,  then  returned  and  roved  over  her  from 
head  to  heel.    "Clerk  went  with  him?" 

She  started.  Then,  remembering  that  he  in 
common  with  the  rest  of  the  camp  knew  nothing 
of  her  absence,  she  nodded. 

"The  Boss?" 

"He  went  out  a  minute  ago — will  be  back 
shortly." 

223 


CROSS   TRAILS 

"No  one  home  but  you,  heigh?"  His  ful- 
some grin  soaked  the  following  words  in  evil: 
"Well,  I  shouldn't  allow  that  you  would  be 
sorry." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded,  flushing, 
then  regretted  the  next  moment  that  she  had 
afforded  the  opening. 

For  he  instantly  followed  it  up:  "Oh,  come, 
now;  quit  your  kidding !  You  know  well  enough 
what  I  mean !  Three's  too  many  for  steady  driv- 
ing." 

"I — I  don't  understand." 

Neither  did  she,  for  her  girl's  unsophistication 
was  armored  against  all  but  the  evil  suggestion 
and  reeking  insolence  of  his  tone  and  manner. 
Imagining  that  he  wished  to  buy  tobacco,  she 
set  herself  to  get  rid  of  him.  "Is  there  anything 
I  can  do  for  you?" 

Of  all  possible  things  it  was  the  worst  she  could 
have  said.  Interpreting  it  by  his  own  evil  psy- 
chology, he  followed  it  up  at  once. 

More  by  his  grin,  the  greasy  familiarity  of  his 
manner,  than  from  the  words,  she  caught  at 
last  a  glimpse  of  his  meaning.  The  mingled  hor- 
ror and  shame  of  it  held  her  speechless  till  he 
suddenly  thrust  out  both  hands.  "Come  here! 
I  wanter  talk  to  you." 

Turning  swiftly,  then,  she  ran  into  her  little 
room  and  shot  the  wooden  bolt.  But  that  did 
not  end  it.  While,  hands  clutched  under  her 
chin,  elbows  over  her  breast,  she  shrank  in  the 

224 


CROSS   TRAILS 

far  corner,  his  voice  came  over  the  partition. 
The  door  shook  under  his  hand. 

A  dark  cloud  hovered  on  the  edge  of  con- 
sciousness, but  she  fought  it  back,  crying  in  her 
mind  that  she  must  not  faint.  "Oh,  what  shall 
I  do?  What  shall  I  do.?"  While  it  rang  in  her 
thought  help  came  in  the  form  of  Tom,  the 
cookee,  sent  by  his  master  to  bring  back  her 
breakfast  dishes. 

Hearing  the  footsteps  outside,  the  man  spoke 
once  more  in  low,  threatening  tones:  "I'm 
going  now,  but  I'll  see  you  again,  an'  don't  be 
trying  to  throw  any  more  of  that  innocent  stuff 
in  my  face.    It  don't  go — see?" 

Followed  the  shuffle  of  his  moccasins  across 
the  floor,  came  the  creak  of  the  door  as  he  passed 
out;  then,  to  her  intense  relief,  she  heard  the 
voice  of  the  cookee  asking  if  she  had  finished 
breakfast. 

"Mr.  Ferrier,  miss?"  He  repeated  her  ner- 
vous question.  "He's  in  the  cook-house.  Sure, 
I'll  tell  him  to  come  at  once." 

If  he  had  appeared  just  then  she  would  un- 
doubtedly have  told  all  in  a  burst  of  distress. 
But,  believing  that  she  merely  wished  him  to 
know  that  she  was  ready  for  their  walk,  Ferrier 
waited  to  finish  his  talk  with  the  cook.  Short 
as  was  the  delay — not  over  five  minutes — it  still 
sufficed  for  her  to  think  of  consequences. 

"If  I  tell  him,"  she  argued  with  herself,  "he 
will  go  after  that  man,  perhaps  start  a  new  riot, 

225 


CROSS   TRAILS 

and  Mr.  Nelson  won't  be  here  to  help.  Besides, 
I  just  couldn't!"  So  she  had  her  excuse  ready 
when  he  arrived: 

"Yes,  I  sent  for  you.  A  man  came  in  just 
now,  I  suppose  for  tobacco.  He  looked  so  hard 
at  the  stores  that  I  got  nervous.  Oughtn't  they 
to  be  covered?" 

He  nodded.  "It  was  carelessness.  I  ought 
to  have  thought  of  it.    Who  was  it?" 

"That  red-eyed  teamster.  •  You  remember, 
he  was  with  you  that  day  you  found  me  on  the 
trail." 

"Humph!  That's  bad.  He's  the  worst  of  them 
all.  Well,  it  can't  be  helped.  Anyway,  I  don't 
suppose  that  it  makes  any  difference.  We  moved 
them  over  here  just  to  make  certain.  Are  you 
ready  for  your  walk?" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  heart  was  taken  out 
of  her.  She  would  have  preferred  to  stay  in. 
But,  afraid  that  he  might  go  out  again  and  leave 
her  alone,  she  followed  him  into  the  woods. 
Traveling  by  the  same  path  she  had  used  the 
other  day  with  Templeton,  it  led  them  on  to 
similar  experiences.  The  bright  sun  had  drawn 
many  of  the  men  out  to  the  forest,  and  approach- 
ing the  first  knot  of  strollers,  Gabrielle  shrank 
close  in  against  Ferrier's  side.  Now,  however, 
in  place  of  the  rude  stares  and  coarse  laughter 
they  had  returned  to  Templeton's  greetings 
they  gave  respectful,  if  sullen,  nods  in  passing. 
With  a  sensitiveness  to  her  feeling  that  she  noted 

226 


"of    course,    it    isn't    much,      only    a    beginning,    but    then — I    DID    IT 

mtself" 


•  •*.*« 


;>   w   c 


CROSS    TRAILS 

at  once  and  greatly  appreciated  Ferrier  stepped 
behind  her,  interposing  his  strong,  square  shoul- 
ders between  her  and  possible  backward  glances. 

He  did  it  at  each  meeting,  and,  as  invariably 
happened  when  they  were  out  together,  her  anx- 
iety presently  subsided,  and  she  experienced 
again  the  old  sense  of  security  and  comfort. 
But  this  time  she  did  not  rebel  against  it.  When, 
having  passed  the  last  strollers,  it  would  have 
been  quite  easy  for  her  to  have  drawn  away,  she 
remained  close  to  his  side  even  after  they  sat 
down  on  a  log  to  rest  and  overlook  the  camp  from 
a  small  elevation. 

Seen  from  that  distance,  nearly  a  mile  over  the 
tops  of  the  trees,  the  buildings  were  exceedingly 
picturesque.  Rising  out  of  brilliant,  sunlit 
snows,  their  brown  masses  conveyed  an  impres- 
sion of  solidity,  comfort,  warmth.  Like  a  banner 
of  good  cheer,  a  white  pennon  of  smoke  fluttered 
above  the  cook-house. 

"  It  looks  good  to  me." 

Glancing  up  when  Ferrier  spoke,  she  saw  that 
his  face  was  bright  with  a  glow  of  pride  that  had 
in  it  a  touch  of  the  maternal.  "Of  course,  it 
isn't  much."  He  answered  her  glance  just  as 
though  she  had  spoken.  "Only  a  beginning, 
but  then — I  did  it  myself." 

After  a  long  pause  he  went  to  correct  an  idea 
which  she  had  gained  at  home  in  Montreal. 
"Most  people  imagine  that  the  old  dad  staked 
me  to  this,  but  it  isn't  true;  there  isn't  a  dollar 

227 


CROSS    TRAILS 

of  his  in  it.  Not  that  he  wasn't  wiUing.  He 
wanted  to,  but  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  do  it 
myself.  When  I  went  to  the  Winnipeg  bankers 
with  my  scheme  I  never  even  mentioned  his 
name.  In  fact,  the  deal  was  closed,  the  finan- 
cial arrangements  all  made,  before  the  relation- 
ship leaked  out." 

"It  is  fine,  too,  to  have  done  it."  She  spoke 
with  real  enthusiasm.  "When  I  got  my  first 
glimpse  of  the  river  the  other  day,  jammed  with 
logs  for  miles,  I  began  to  see  what  a  big  thing  it 
is.    You  deserve  all  kinds  of  credit." 

"You  think  so?"  He  turned  his  face,  bright- 
eyed,  eager,  shining.  "That's  mighty  encour- 
aging." 

"And  what  a  satisfaction  to  know  that  you 
did  it  all  yourself!  To  build,  create,  see  the 
things  you  have  made  in  your  mind  take  form 
under  your  eyes — there  can  be  nothing  finer  in 
all  the  world." 

"And  nothing  more  natural.  All  boys  have  it, 
the  desire  to  build,  make  something  somewhere. 
That's  what  sets  them  to  digging  caves,  whit- 
tling boats."  A  whimsical  gleam  slipped  into 
his  eyes.  "And  it  isn't  confined  to  the  eternally 
masculine,  either.  Look  at  your  small  girls'  ex- 
periments in  doll  housekeeping.  The  trouble  is 
that  civilization  either  smothers  the  instinct  in 
most  of  us  or  gives  it  a  wrong  trend.'* 

He  spoke  with  quiet  fervor  that  moved  and 
touched  her.    Glancing  up  in  his  bright  face,  she 

228 


CROSS   TRAILS 

was  about  to  speak,  but  stopped  at  the  crunch- 
ing of  feet  in  the  snow  around  a  bend  of  the  trail. 
It  was  the  same  knot  of  men  they  had  passed 
first,  and  after  they  had  gone  by  Ferrier  com- 
mented, laughing,  upon  his  own  ambition:  "As 
I  said,  this  is  only  the  beginning — if  things  go 
right.  But  coming  down  to  cases,  my  future 
largely  depends  at  present  upon  those  gentle- 
men. If  Dominique  arrives  within  a  few  days, 
and  they  all  go  back  to  work,  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  go  on  prophesying.  But  you  are  cold. 
Let's  move  on." 

They  had  no  more  than  passed  from  sight  be- 
fore another  knot  of  men — among  whom  were 
Teetzel  and  two  others  of  the  deputation  that 
had  visited  the  office — came  strolling  along  from 
the  same  direction  and  stopped  to  rest  at  the  log. 

"Gosh,  but  that's  pretty!" 

The  man  who  spoke  nodded  toward  the  camp. 
But  if  the  others  had  ever  possessed  the  germs 
of  an  imagination  such  as  that  which  prompted 
the  remark  they  had  been  effectually  seared  by 
hunger,  the  fierce,  gnawing  hunger  that  assails 
even  a  well-fed  man  in  the  frozen  air  of  the  North. 
Food  was  the  one  topic  that  could  produce  a 
mental  reaction  in  them.  Now  it  came  cropping 
out. 

"Pretty?"  Teetzel  sniffed.  "Hell!  you  kain't 
eat  it.  Nothing  in  the  hull  world  would  look 
pretty  to  me  now  save  a  beefsteak." 

"You  betcher!"  the  others  chorused,  and  were 
««9 


CROSS   TRAILS 

going  on  to  voice  the  individual  complaints  when 
a  cynical  voice  broke  in  from  behind: 

"You  fellows  come  out  here  to  browse?" 

It  was  Bartholomew  and  the  Frenchman, 
Legarde,  who  had  come  in  from  a  "swamping" 
trail.  Stopping  in  front  of  the  row,  the  two 
looked  down  upon  them. 

Teetzel  nodded.  "I  would,  if  this  poplar  bark 
wasn't  hard  frozen.  I'm  that  hungry,  if  you 
want  to  know,  I  could  eat  wood  shavings." 

"I  know  some  that  ain't  hungry."  The  team- 
ster's glance  scintillated  with  low  cunning.  "  Sure 
I  do." 

In  a  second  it  was  taken  up.  "You  bet;  two 
of  'em  passed  just  now." 

"Say,  did  you  see  her  breakfast  t'other  day?" 

"Um-yum!  did  I?  Buttered  toast,  hot  cakes* 
bacon,  all — " 

"Canned  cream  and  sugar — " 

"While  we  drink  our  black  coffee  straight.'* 

Only  one,  the  man  who  had  commented  upon 
the  scenery,  lodged  a  protest:  "Oh,  shore!  She's 
a  woman.  You'd  expect  to  allow  her  a  shade 
the  best." 

"Shade?"  Teetzel  snorted.  "An'  us  eat- 
ing dry  bread  and  beans  boiled  without  fat? 
Shade?" 

"An'  d'you  allow  that  the  rest  of  the  office 
ain't  eating?"  Bartholomew  seized  upon  his 
moment.  "If  you  do,  all  I  have  to  say  is  that 
you're  a  darned  sight  greener  nor  me.     They're 

230 


CROSS   TRAILS 

feeding  fat — the  Boss,  Nelson,  Miles — on  the 
savings  from  our  grub." 

"If  I  was  sure  o'  that — "  Teetzel  was  begin- 
ning, when  a  man  brought  his  fist  down  on  his 
own  leg  in  a  passion  of  ravenous  hunger. 

"Is  that  straight,  Bartholomew?" 

"Straight?"  The  man's  evil  mouth  drew  up 
under  his  nose  in  a  snarling  grin.  "What  for, 
d'you  allow,  they  moved  all  the  grub  over  to  the 
office?" 

"To  cook  at  zer  plaisure,  eh?"  Legarde  lent 
his  support.  "To  cook  wizout  our  knowledge, 
it  ees,  by  damn!" 

"What?  Have  they  got  all  the  grub  in  there?" 
Teetzel  demanded.    "Are  you  sure  of  it?" 

"Sure  as  my  eyes  can  make  me."  After  telling 
how  he  had  come  to  see  the  stores  he  added: 
"They  must  ha'  moved  'em  over  by  night." 

"An'  you  allow  they're  cooking  on  the  quiet?" 

"Say,  Bill" — he  turned  his  red,  contemptu- 
ous glance  on  the  speaker — "supposing  you  was 
in  there  with  all  that  grub?    Would  you  go  hun- 

gry?" 

"I  would  not:' 

"No  more  will  they." 

It  was  his  climax.  His  mean  eyes  fastened  on 
the  faces  seeking  the  effect,  and  found  it  in  the 
composite  expression  of  wolfish  hunger,  anger, 
hate.  "Are  we  going  to  stand  for  this?"  Teetzel 
brought  his  fist  down  on  the  log. 

"  We  ain't !"   It  came  from  all  round  in  a  chorus 

231 


CROSS    TRAILS 

which  reached  Ferrier  and  Gabrielle,  proceeding 
on  their  way.  "You  bet  we  ain't."  With  all 
kinds  of  heated  variations  it  ran  up  and  down 
the  line. 

"Come  on,  boys!"    Teetzel  jumped  up. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Bartholomew 
called  after  as  the  gang  moved  off. 

"To  get  that  grub — if  the  other  fellows  will 
join  in." 

"No  doubt  o'  that."  Bartholomew  grinned. 
"But,  look-a-here:  Don't  go  too  fast.  Sence 
you've  been  waiting  so  long,  it  ain't  a-going  to  kill 
you  to  put  it  off  till  night.  Talk  it  around  the 
bunk-houses  all  day,  an'  every  last  man  '11  be 
fighting  fit  by  then." 

"You're  right."  Nodding,  Teetzel  strode  off, 
his  following  trailing  behind. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FROM  the  walk  Gabrielle  returned  a  differ- 
ent girl  to  camp.  She  had  absorbed  some- 
thing of  the  quiet  and  peace  of  the  forest.  Ob- 
served in  perspective  down  the  silent,  sunlit 
vistas,  even  her  late  unpleasant  experience-  with 
the  teamster  dwindled  in  its  proportions. 

It  had  wrought  other  effects,  too — that  sunny 
peace,  clarifying  her  thought,  dispelling  illusions, 
clearing  her  mental  vision  so  that  she  was  able 
to  review  and  form  correct  judgments  upon  her 
own  emotions.  A  sudden  drooping  of  her  head 
marked,  for  instance,  her  understanding  of  the 
fact  that,  with  all  its  enormous  strength,  her  at- 
traction toward  Templeton  had  been  purely 
physical.  While  she  recalled  with  shamed 
blushes  its  terrible  pull,  she  realized  that  it  was 
merely  born  of  the  long  centuries  that  were 
shoving  her  on  to  a  consummation  her  spirit 
could  never  have  sanctioned.  And  she  wondered 
with  clear,  cold  wonder  at  its  sudden  death,  for 
she  knew  that  were  they  ever  to  be  thrown  to- 
gether again  he  could  arouse  in  her  nothing  but 
dislike. 

Nor  did  her  self-revelations  end  there.     Cer- 

16  233 


CROSS    TRAILS 

tain  surreptitious  glances  at  Ferrier  were  insti- 
gated by  knowledge  of  how  large  a  part  jealousy 
and  pique  had  played  in  their  personal  drama.  A 
decided  touch  of  approval  in  them  told,  moreover, 
that  in  the  absence  of  said  ugly  feelings  Temple- 
ton  would  never  have  drawn  her  second  glance. 
The  quiet  happiness  that  shone  in  Ferrier 's  face, 
breathed  in  every  gentle  tone,  produced  a  pleas- 
ant reaction  in  her.  At  times  she  felt  herself 
kindling  with  the  old  feeling,  the  tremulous  hap- 
piness of  their  courting-days.  But  always,  like 
a  dash  of  cold  water,  a  slight  twinge  of  jealousy 
would  return  to  quench  the  jflame.  If  not  actu- 
ally hostile,  the  feeling  was  strong  enough  to  pre- 
vent her  from  taking  down  of  her  own  accord  the 
bars  his  caution  had  set  up  between  them;  for, 
profiting  by  Nelson's  advice  and  bitter  experi- 
ence, he  was  moving  very  slowly. 

Up  to  the  moment  they  entered  the  office  she 
was  calmed  and  quieted.  But  the  instant  her 
eyes  fell  on  the  piled  stores  her  fears  came  flock- 
ing like  evil  birds  home  to  roost.  "Can't  I  go, 
too.'^"  she  asked,  when  he  said  that  he  was  going  to 
the  cook-house. 

The  first  actual  request  she  had  ever  made  to 
him  since  she  came  to  the  camp,  its  force  was 
quintupled  by  the  trembling  of  her  lips,  the  fear 
in  her  gray,  dilated  eyes.  With  great  reluctance 
he  shook  his  head.  "It's  almost  dinner-time, 
and  I'm  going  over  to  back  up  Miles." 

"You  think  there  will  be  trouble?" 

234 


CROSS   TRAILS 

**No,  I'm  not  exactly  looking  for  it.  It  will 
be  less  likely,  however,  if  I'm  there  on  watch." 

*'It  is  silly,  I  know,"  she  still  argued,  "but 
I'm — nervous  to-day.  When  that  man  came  in 
this  morning — " 

"He  did  not  dare—" 

"No,  no!"  Alarmed  by  the  sudden  setting 
of  the  square  jaws,  flash  of  his  eyes,  she  hid  the 
truth.  "  He  only  asked  for  you.  But — I'm  silly, 
of  course." 

"Not  a  bit.  It's  perfectly  natural.  Now, 
look  here:  I'll  fix  the  door  so  that  it  cannot  be 
opened  from  the  outside."  With  two  raps  of  a 
hammer  he  knocked  out  the  peg  that  moved  the 
wooden  bolt  back  and  forth  in  its  slot.  "There 
now,  don't  open  for  any  one  except  myself  or  the 
cook." 

Leaving  her  partly  reassured,  he  went  on  over 
to  the  cook-house,  where  the  Fates  were  already 
setting  the  stage  for  the  climax  of  the  drama. 
Taking  up  a  position  at  the  head  of  the  tables, 
with  his  back  to  the  stove,  he  could  see  every 
man  in  the  room,  and  he  noticed  at  once  that 
Teetzel,  Stetson,  and  two  or  three  others  of  the 
old  reliables  were  sitting  at  the  same  table  with 
Bartholomew  and  his  gang.  But,  though  dis- 
quieting, the  change  afforded  no  actual  cause 
for  alarm.  The  meal,  moreover,  proceeded  with 
unusual  quiet.  Washing  down  their  scant  por- 
tions of  beans  and  dry  bread  with  gulps  of  un- 
sweetened coffee,  the  men  rose  and  filed  out  with 

235 


CROSS    TRAILS 

scarcely  a  grumble.  In  comparison  with  the 
last  half-dozen  meals  it  was  almost  a  love-feast, 
and  its  effect  was  plainly  to  be  seen  on  the  face  he 
carried  back  to  Gabrielle. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  she  exclaimed,  at  the  good 
news,  and  readily  acceded  to  his  proposal  for 
another  walk  after  she  had  eaten  her  lunch. 

They  left  the  camp  by  another  route,  and  so 
came  under  observation  of  Bartholomew  and 
Legarde,  who  had  just  stepped  out  of  a  bunk- 
house.  Unseen  by  them,  the  two  stood  watching 
with  hot,  avid  stares  that  were  more  significant 
even  than  their  words. 

"By  Gar!"  Legarde  exclaimed  it  as  the  girl's 
skirt  fluttered  out  of  sight  among  the  trees. 
"Now  ees  the  chance.  Let  us  call  Hans  an'  Ole. 
We  shall  jump  heem  out  there  in  the  woods." 

"In  broad  daylight.'^  No,  siree!"  Bartholo- 
mew shook  his  head.  "Why  not?  Simply  cos 
we  ain't  taking  no  fool  chances.  There's  Teetzel, 
Stetson,  an'  their  gang.  They're  wound  up,  all 
right,  fighting  mad  over  the  grub.  But  we 
ain't  sure  of  'em  in  anything  else,  an'  don't  want 
'em,  in  any  case.  But  to-night?  It  '11  be  easy  as 
eating.     Forget  it — till  then." 

Meanwhile  Gabrielle  and  Ferrier  proceeded  on 
their  walk,  which  almost  duplicated  in  both 
scenic  and  emotional  effects  their  experience  of 
the  morning.  Such  differences  as  existed  were 
merely  of  intensity.  When,  for  instance,  she 
slipped  on  the  ice  and  was  saved  from  a  fall  only 

236 


CROSS   TRAILS 

by  his  quick  hand  the  bars  between  them  rattled 
in  their  sockets.  But  his  caution  stood  the 
strain.  Restoring  her  balance  with  gentle  re- 
spect, he  walked  on,  albeit  tingling  in  pulse  and 
limb. 

After  a  long  circuit  through  the  woods  in  the 
opposite  direction  they  arrived  eventually  at 
the  very  log  from  which  they  had  overlooked 
the  camp,  and  while  they  sat  there  resting,  the 
bars  received  a  second  jar,  this  time  from  her 
impulsive  hand.  Naturally  they  had  drifted 
again  into  talk  of  his  plans. 

"In  ten  years,"  he  concluded,  "I  ought  to 
stand  even  with  the  old  dad.  But" — he  added 
it  with  a  touch  of  sadness — "there  would  be  little 
satisfaction  in  that.  It  isn't  the  money  or  even 
the  work;  it's  the  woman  that  stands  behind  all 
that  man  wants.  Behind  all  good  work  she  is 
always  there.  I  don't  believe  that  anything  good 
was  ever  done  without  her.  Sometimes  she 
isn't  worthy  of  it.  Again,  she  has  never  known 
it  was  done  for  her.  Quite  often  the  finished 
labor  has  lacked  her  crowning.  But,  worthy  or 
unworthy,  conscious  or  unconscious,  she  is  always 
there." 

He  was  looking  out  over  the  camp  and  so  did 
not  see  the  sympathy  surge  in  the  gray  eyes,  the 
tremulous  hand  that  advanced  almost  to  his  arm, 
then  fell  back  into  her  lap.  But  he  did  catch  the 
rich  cadence  of  her  voice:  "This  was  done  for — a 
woman?" 

237 


CROSS    TRAILS 

"For  you." 

He  swung  around,  but  her  drooped  head  now 
hid  the  soft  Hghts  in  her  eyes.  Mischief  spiced 
her  next  remark:  "Ah,  I  see!  You  said  she  was 
often  unworthy." 

"Not  you." 

His  absolute  conviction  caused  the  mischief 
to  burn  up  in  a  flush  of  shame.  "But  I  am!  I 
am!"  She  pleaded  it  with  the  earnestness  that 
most  people  would  use  in  establishing  character. 
"I  am  unworthy.  You  forget  that  I  eloped  with 
— Mm." 

"You  came  back." 

"Nevertheless — "  she  stopped.  But  the  feel- 
ing behind  the  qualification  remained  to  strength- 
en the  bars.  "It  is  too  soon."  The  bars  were 
still  standing  on  their  return. 


CHAPTER  XX 

*'  TT'S  a  pipe  now!"  The  hope  Ferrier  thus  ex- 
X  pressed  in  cheerful  slang  was  inspired  by  the 
frozen  constellations  in  the  black  ice  of  the  firma- 
ment above  the  office  doorway.  "Sure  shot!'* 
he  added,  after  a  second  glance  outside.  "The 
back  of  the  winter  is  broken.  All  signs  point  to 
fair  weather,  and  we  can  look  for  Dominique  in 
a  couple  of  days." 

To  his  eye  the  camp  presented  its  usual  aspect, 
dim  squares  of  yellow  glowing  in  the  dark  mass 
of  the  buildings  within  the  tall  circle  of  spruce, 
roofed  over  by  frosty  stars.  From  its  farther  end 
the  cook-house  emitted  its  customary  "exhaust" 
of  steam  and  white  wood-smoke.  Punctuated 
with  an  occasional  laugh  or  rude  oath,  a  mutter 
of  talk  escaped  from  the  bunk-houses.  In  all  was 
no  hint  of  coming  trouble;  nothing  to  tell  of  the 
man  whose  eye  was  glued  to  a  spy-hole  in  the 
frost  of  one  dark  bunk-house.  Uttering  a  last 
cheerful,  "It*s  going  to  be  plain  sailing  after  to- 
morrow," he  stepped  out  and  closed  the  door. 

Though  the  cracked  tones  of  the  cook's  cow- 
bell were  still  reverberating  in  the  dark  woods, 
the  tables  were  already  filled,  and  as  he  entered 

«39 


CROSS   TRAILS 

long  rows  of  rough  faces  turned  in  parallel  waves 
toward  the  door.  Usually  the  hum  and  growl 
of  talk  and  complaints  drowned  all  other  sounds. 
But  to-night — and  he  noted  it  with  surprise — 
the  tap  of  the  cook's  spoon  as  he  served  out 
beans  echoed  through  the  room.  Instinctively 
his  glance  went  first  to  the  table  where  Barthol- 
omew always  sat  with  Legarde,  Big  Ole,  and 
Hans,  the  quarrelsome  Swede.  They  were  not 
there.  Neither  did  his  quick  search  reveal  one 
of  them  at  the  other  tables. 

"I  wonder — "  he  began,  in  thought.  But  the 
cookees,  who  had  been  shooting  tin  plates  of 
beans  along  the  tables  as  fast  as  the  cook  filled 
them,  came  just  then  to  the  end.  Before  the 
suspicion  could  take  full  form  it  was  ousted 
from  Ferrier's  mind  by  the  bedlam  of  noise, 
hisses,  catcalls,  curses  that  set  the  room  a-tremble. 

So  suddenly  it  came,  with  such  furious  vehe- 
mence of  passion,  that  Ferrier  could  only  stand  and 
stare.  Fully  a  score  of  men  had  jumped  upon  the 
tables  and  stood  holding  out  the  inadequate  mess 
of  beans  at  arm's-length  above  the  red,  angry 
faces  of  their  fellows.  From  all  sides  furious 
animal  glares  returned  his  surprised  stare.  Glanc- 
ing at  the  cook,  he  saw  that  his  mouth  was  open, 
speaking,  but  he  could  not  hear.  Shrugging,  he 
composed  himself  to  wait  till  the  noise  abated. 

His  composure,  however,  was  far  from  real. 
Born  and  bred  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  camps, 
he  knew  the  lengths  to  which  the  riot  might  go. 

240 


CROSS    TRAILS 

There  in  the  dark  woods,  hundreds  of  miles  be- 
yond civilization's  pale.  Time  rolled  back  her 
scrolls  to  the  old  order  when  all  life  obeyed  one 
law,  the  law  that  governs  alike  the  man  and  the 
beast  in  their  loves  and  wars.  At  the  thought  of 
Gabrielle  alone  in  the  office  he  shivered  with 
fear.  But  he  took  care  not  to  show  it.  After  the 
first  burst  the  din  had  resolved  into  rude  rhythms, 
huge  pulsations  that  rose  and  fell  like  the  waves 
of  the  sea.  Choosing  his  time,  he  threw  a  ques- 
tion into  the  trough. 

"What's  the  matter,  boys.f*  Gone  clean 
crazy?" 

That  he  had  timed  it  just  right  was  proven  by 
a  sudden  dwindling  in  the  volume.  But  enough 
remained  to  keep  the  windows  and  doors  rat- 
tling in  their  frames.  Very  soon  shouts  of,  "Shut 
up!  Let  him  speak!"  began  to  rise  through  the 
ruck. 

"I  asked  what  was  the  matter?"  He  asked 
it  again  when  at  last  silence  fell. 

^'Whafs  wrong?"  Teetzel  jumped  up  on  a 
bench.  "This!  We  ain't  a-going  to  stand  it  any 
more!"  He  dashed  his  tin  plate  of  beans  to  the 
floor. 

"You  won't  have  to — much  longer.  We  have 
had  two  fine  days  already,  and  you  can  see  for 
yourselves  that  the  weather  has  set  in  for  fair. 
Mr.  Nelson  will  be  back  some  time  to-morrow 
with  the  grub  from  the  huts,  and  Dominique  is 
liable  to  land  at  any  time." 

241 


CROSS   TRAILS 

At  another  time  he  might  have  prevailed,  but, 
fed  fat  with  tales  of  secret  feasting  in  the  office, 
the  men  had  passed  beyond  reason.  "Then 
why  are  you  starving  us?"  The  question  flew 
in  from  all  sides. 

"There's  grub  enough  to  last  out  at  double 
rations !" 

"You  bet— in  the  office!" 

"No  empty  bellies  there!" 

"Cooking  of  nights  while  we're  asleep!" 

It  came  in  a  series  of  pugnacious  bellows  that 
culminated  in  Teetzel's  roar:  "You  bet!  We 
know  where  it  is,  an'  we're  going  to  get  it !  Come 
on!" 

"Stop!    Stop!" 

An  extra  table  ran  down  one  side,  and,  leaping 
upon  it,  he  coursed  swiftly  along  it  and  gained 
the  door  ahead  of  the  rioters,  who  were  tumbling 
over  each  other  and  the  benches  in  their  haste 
to  get  out.  "Stop!"  He  shouted  it  again  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  If  you  won't  listen  to  reason, 
if  you  will  eat  it  all  up  at  one  meal,  why,  go  ahead! 
Only  there's  no  necessity  for  violence.  I'll  give 
you  the  stores  myself." 

It  is  doubtful  whether  they  even  heard.  Stand- 
ing with  his  back  against  the  door,  he  formed  the 
apex  of  a  wedge  which,  under  the  tremendous 
pressure  from  behind,  suddenly  split  the  door 
with  a  rending  crash  and  sent  him  flying  back- 
ward between  the. two  halves.  As,  breathless, 
he  leaped  up  he  saw  through  the  open  door  of  the 

242 


CROSS   TRAILS 

oflSce  figures  surging  wildly  in  struggle.  From 
among  them  issued  a  scream. 

Left  to  herself,  Gabrielle  had  curled  up  in  her 
favorite  posture  and  place  on  the  hearth.  Dim- 
pled chin  in  her  hands,  elbows  propped  on  her 
knees,  she  mused  while  the  firelight  leaped  and 
danced,  splashing  its  warm  stains  over  the  log 
walls.  Unconscious  of  dark  figures  slinking  out- 
side, unaware  of  the  eye  at  the  hole  where  Ferrier 
had  knocked  the  peg  out  of  the  door -bolt,  she 
brooded  over  Ferrier's  parting  words. 

If  they  proved  true,  if  the  weather  did  hold 
fair  and  Dominique  arrived,  there  would  be 
nothing  to  prevent  her  from  going  out  with  him 
on  his  next  trip.  When  one  has  desperately  de- 
sired a  thing  its  sudden  granting  is  apt  to  pro- 
duce a  flash  of  joy.  It  has  to  be  set  down,  how- 
ever, that  the  thought  invested  her  with  an 
expression  which  was  principally  startled.  The 
sudden  dilation  of  the  gray  eyes,  little  gasp,  be- 
longed less  to  joy  than  to  dismay. 

"  Gabrielle,  can  it  be  that  you— do  not  want  to 
go?" 

It  was  a  momentous  question;  and,  dropping 
her  face  in  her  hands,  she  set  herself  to  find  the 
answer.  There  is  no  need  to  detail  her  reflec- 
tions. Their  scope  embraced  all  her  recent  ex- 
perience, and  while  reviewing  it  once  more  she 
learned  many  things. 

"I  see — now."  Her  soft  whisper  came  bub- 
bling up  from  the  deep  springs  of  woman's  love, 

243 


CROSS   TRAILS 

the  eternal  desire  to  be  petted,  cherished,  held 
warm  from  the  cold  winds  of  the  world.  "I  see 
now.  I  was  lonely,  disillusioned,  disappointed. 
I  just  had  to  have  love."  With  clearness  almost 
objective  she  looked  back  and  saw  the  springs  of 
her  feeling  rise  and  overflow  like  a  stream  that 
has  been  dammed  by  a  landslide.  *^He — just 
happened  to  be  in  the  way." 

There  appeared  again  for  examination  also 
the  charity  born  of  her  own  weakness  out  on  the 
trail.  Once  more  she  raised  and  scrutinized  the 
lovely  face  and  figure  of  the  half-breed  girl,  and 
even  for  her  she  now  found  an  excuse:  "Perhaps 
she  really  loved  him." 

In  flashing  sequence  it  all  passed  through  her 
thought  from  the  beginning  a  year  ago  to  the 
events  of  that  afternoon,  and  tears  moistened  her 
eyes  as  she  recalled  his  half-sad  commentary  on 
man's  work:  "Behind  it  stands  always  the 
woman,  always  the  woman  behind  the  work." 
And  so  powerfully  did  she  feel  a  sympathetic  im- 
pulse to  comfort  and  cheer  him  that  it  brought  a 
blush  to  her  cheek. 

"No,  no!"  she  denied  the  impulse.  "It  is  too 
soon.  If  you  hadn't  made  such  a  fool  of  your- 
self— perhaps?  You  must  go — ^but  you  don't 
want  to.  Oh,  I  know  what  I'll  do!"  Her  eyes 
lit  brilliantly.  "I'll  go  on  up  and  see  Nell,  at 
Winnipegoos.  Then  when  the  spring  drive 
comes  down  I  can  see  him  again.  What's 
that.?" 

244 


HELD  RIGID  BT  HER  AWFUL  FEAR,  SHE  COULD  ONLY  STAND,  GAZING  IN  HORROR 
AT  THE  HALF-DOZEN  MEN  WHO  FOLLOWED  THE  DOOR  INTO  THE  ROOM 


CROSS    TRAILS 

While  she  sat  up,  listening  intently  to  a 
shuffling  of  feet  outside  the  door,  her  blush  faded, 
carrying  with  it  every  particle  of  color.  *'0h, 
I'm  sure  that  I  heard  something!"  Then,  just  as 
she  caught  the  sound  again,  it  was  drowned  in 
the  pandemonium  that  broke  loose  at  that  mo- 
ment in  the  cook-house.  But  she  could  still  see 
the  door  quivering  under  the  pressure  of  heavy 
shoulders.  Scrambling  up,  she  stood  and  stared 
as  it  came  crashing  in. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  run  into  her  bedroom. 
But,  held  rigid  by  her  awful  fear,  she  could  only 
stand,  gazing  in  horror  at  the  half-dozen  men 
who  followed  the  door  into  the  room.  It  was 
fortunate,  too,  that  she  did  not  move.  Other- 
wise they  would  have  been  upon  her  like  so  many 
wolves  instead  of  standing,  as  they  did,  egging 
one  another  on  with  encouraging  grins.  Than 
the  contrast  between  her  delicacy  and  their 
coarseness,  there  could  have  been  nothing  more 
startling,  and  undoubtedly  they  felt  it — the 
more  powerfully  when  she  addressed  them  in 
quiet  tones  that  hid  her  quaking  fear: 

"If  you  are  looking  for  Mr.  Ferrier,  he  is  in 
the  cook-house." 

"No;  we  ain't  looking  for  him,"  Bartholomew 
answered.  His  beaked  nose  wrinkled  in  his  evil 
grin. 

"What  can  I — "  She  broke  off,  panting,  her 
hand  pressing  her  breast  to  steady  the  wild 
heart.    Her  glance  went  here  and  there,  pleading, 

245 


CROSS    TRAILS 

entreating  for  help,  did  not  find  it  in  those  brutal 
faces.  "Oh,  won't  you  please  go  out?  I'm 
fright—" 

"Aw,  come  off!"  Bartholomew  interrupted. 

He  advanced,  speaking,  holding  out  his  hands. 
But  just  when  another  step  would  have  given 
her  to  him  she  eluded  his  grasp  with  a  move- 
ment swift  as  that  of  a  doubling  hare.  Laugh- 
ing, he  followed.  Then,  as  he  reached  to  seize 
her,  she  struck  at  him  wildly,  desperately,  with 
all  the  weight  of  her  body,  strength  of  her  fear. 
Landing  full  in  his  face,  the  blow  sent  him  stag- 
gering backward.  But  the  moment's  respite 
cost  her  dearly.  For  that  single  physical  con- 
tact broke  the  spell  that  had  so  far  held  the 
others.  The  next  second  she  was  seized  by  a 
dozen  hands. 

"Clap  your  hand  over  her  mouth,  Ole!" 

Obeying,  the  Swede  strangled  her  cry. 

"Now,  up  with  her!  Rush  her  into  the  bunk- 
house  before  the  others  get  here!" 

She  felt  herself  fainting.  Then  through  the 
black  cloud  that  was  rolling  over  her  conscious- 
ness burst  an  oblong  of  gold,  the  stream  of  light 
through  the  broken  cook-house  door.  Inspired 
with  sudden  hope,  she  freed  her  mouth  with  a 
sudden  twist  of  her  neck  and  screamed  with  all 
her  might. 

Of  itself  the  cry  would  have  availed  little.  But 
striking  the  doorway  in  a  mass  almost  twice  its 
width  just  then,  her  captors  stuck,  broke,  then, 

246 


CROSS    TRAILS 

as  Bartholomew  tripped  on  the  threshold  and 
went  down  with  the  mass  on  top  of  him,  Gabri- 
elle  was  projected  over  their  heads  into  the  snow. 
Carried  feet  foremost,  she  fell  on  them.  Then 
after  one  blind  stagger  she  rushed  on,  threading 
her  way  among  the  strikers  who  were  streaming 
across  from  the  cook-house,  and  so  ran  into  Fer- 
rier  as  he  rose  from  under  the  trampling  feet. 

"My  husband!    Oh,  my  husband!" 

The  cry  came  out  of  her  just  as  naturally  as 
though  they  had  lived  together  for  a  score  of 
years.  Just  as  naturally,  just  as  unconsciously, 
the  appeal  fired  in  him  the  strength  and  furious 
passion  of  the  fighting  male. 

"Run,  dear!  Into  the  cook-house  with  you! 
I'll  follow!" 

Shoving  her  on,  he  snatched  the  neck-yoke 
from  the  fresh-water  sled  that  stood  in  front  of 
the  cook-house;  and,  looking  back  from  the  door- 
way a  moment  later,  she  saw  him  in  the  yellow 
band  of  lamplight,  head  held  high,  lips  drawn 
back  from  his  set  teeth  in  a  formidable  grin,  fac- 
ing her  pursuers.  Counting  from  the  time  she 
fell  on  her  feet,  barely  ten  seconds  had  elapsed. 
Another  ten  covered  the  denouement. 

"Miles!    Miles!    Quick!" 

While  she  was  calling  the  neck-yoke  rose  in 
the  lamplight  and  fell — once,  twice,  each  time 
taking  down  a  man.  Then,  turning  from  a  swift 
glance  at  the  cook,  she  saw  that  he  was  down. 
Over  the  spot  where  he  had  stood  writhed  a  kick- 

247 


CROSS    TRAILS 

ing,  stamping  muddle  of  men.  Crazed  by  the 
sight,  she  was  making  to  run  back  when  she 
was  seized  and  pulled  in  from  behind. 

"Out  o'  me  way!" 

She  had  tried  to  run  again,  but  stopped,  halted 
by  the  blue  glint  of  two  long  Colts  in  the  cook's 
hands.  The  next  second  one  of  them  spoke 
sharply,  and  though  the  smoke  prevented  her 
from  seeing  Bartholomew  clutch  his  arm,  she 
heard  his  yell  and  the  quick  scurry  of  running 
feet. 

"Aisy  wid  it!'*  Miles  again  blocked  her  way. 
"They're  all  there  in  the  shadow.  There's 
nothing  they'd  be  likin'  better  than  to  have  you 
go  out.    Sam  an'  Tom  will  bring  him  in." 

Round  and  squat,  yet  formidable  by  reason 
of  the  indomitable  bravery  that  proceeded  out 
of  him  like  an  essence,  he  stood  in  the  doorway 
menacing  the  shadows  with  the  Colts,  while  the 
cookees  brought  Ferrier  in  and  laid  him  on  a 
bunk.  Then  his  voice  rang  sharply  out:  "Fair 
warning!  'Twill  be  the  foolish  head  that  shows 
around  here.  If  ye've  the  wisdom  of  the  swine 
that  yez  are,  'tis  straight  to  your  straw  that  ye'll 
go." 

Stepping  inside  then,  he  had  the  cookees  nail 
a  heavy  table  across  the  doorway,  then  turned 
his  attention  to  the  windows;  not  any  too  soon, 
for  while  Tom  was  nailing  boards  across  the 
sash  the  glass  suddenly  shivered  and  flew  in  his 
face.     "An'  ye'd  better  be  thanking  yer  stars 

248 


CROSS   TRAILS 

that  this  is  Canada,"  Miles  issued  rough  conso- 
lation while  Tom  wiped  the  blood  from  a  cut  on 
his  forehead.  "If  'twas  Wisconsin  'tis  more  than 
snowballs  ye'd  be  called  on  to  face." 

The  barricades  completed,  he  joined  Gabrielle, 
who  was  laving  Ferrier's  face  with  water  in  vain 
efforts  to  bring  him  to.  With  the  exception  of  a 
bruise  on  one  temple  his  face  was  unmarred,  and 
Miles's  first  remark  dealt  with  his  luck:  "Faix, 
an'  he  has  no  right  to  the  nose  av  him  afther  such 
a  heeling."  But  after  he  had  opened  the  clothing 
and  saw  the  body,  trampled  to  a  blue  pulp,  his 
face  fell.  "Sure,  he's  hurt,  poor  man!  The 
ribs  av  him  are  all  caved  in." 

During  his  twenty  years'  service  in  the  camps 
there  was  hardly  a  hurt  that  could  be  gained  in 
the  brutal  lumbermen's  fights  that  he  had  not 
been  called  upon  to  cure.  Now,  while  Gabrielle 
looked  breathlessly  on,  he  ran  his  hands  over 
Ferrier's  bruised  sides,  locating  and  lifting  two 
broken  ribs  into  place  with  almost  a  surgeon's 
skill.  When,  half  an  hour  later,  the  patient  still 
remained  unconscious  in  spite  of  Gabrielle's 
anxious  work.  Miles  touched  the  bruised  brow. 

"His  heart  bates  all  right,  so  it  must  be  this. 
They've  landed  on  him  wid  the  neck-yoke  while 
he  was  down." 

"You  bet  we  did,  an'  we'll  get  him  next  time! 
You,  too,  an  that — " 

The  epithet,  bawled  through  a  crack  in  the 
window-boards,  was  drowned  by  the  sharp  bark 

17  1249 


CROSS   TRAILS 

of  the  Colt  that  Miles  snatched  from  the  table. 
But,  though  the  bullet  perforated  the  board 
within  an  inch  of  the  crack,  a  derisive  yell  on  the 
outside  marked  a  miss.  After  looting  the  office 
the  strikers  had  gone  to  cooking  over  the  bunk- 
house  stoves,  and  their  shouts  and  yells  over 
prospective  feasting  formed  a  sinister  back- 
ground for  scurrilous  threats  that  kept  seeping 
in  from  the  outside. 

"They  think  that  I  am  a  bad  woman.''" 
After  twenty  minutes  of  it  Gabrielle  looked  ques- 
tioningly  up  at  the  cook. 

"Ar-r-r-r-r!"  He  ground  it  from  between  his 
teeth.  "What  matters  the  thoughts  av  such 
bastes?" 

"But  tell  me,  if  they  had  known  that  I  was  his 
wife — wouldn't  it  have  been  different?" 

Her  eyes  demanded  truthful  answer.  After 
a  few  uneasy  shuffles  he  tried  evasion.  "What 
are  ye  talking  about?  Would  it  have  left  thim 
a  bit  less  hungry?" 

But  she  was  not  to  be  denied.  "That  is  an- 
other question.     Please  answer." 

Unwillingly,  grudgingly,  he  conceded.  "Mind 
ye,  I'm  not  saying  that  it  would,  for  there's  no 
knowing  the  bastes.     But  it  might." 

"Then  I'm  responsible.     If  he  dies — " 

The  agony  that  drenched  her  white  face  over- 
came the  cook.  He  laid  a  comforting  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  "No,  no,  'tis  not  so  bad.  He 
isn't  the  kind  that  dies  av  a  bit  av  a  crack  like 

250 


CROSS   TRAILS 

that.  Then  ye're  taking  too  much  blame  to 
yerself.  Thim  divils  is  bad,  rotten  bad,  an' 
you're  not  to  be  blamed.  An'  you  couldn't  have 
done  anything  else.  If  it  wasn't  him" — he 
gently  touched  Ferrier's  brow — "an'  he  hadn't 
been  purged  be  great  sorrow,  I'd  back  ye  up 
against  him  yet."  With  that  touch  of  poesy 
that  inheres  in  Celtic  blood  he  finished:  "But 
purged  he  is,  washed  clane  in  the  deep  waters  av 
tribulation.  Ye'll  go  far  to  find  a  wholesomer 
man." 

"I  know  it — now." 

So  far  she  had  been  sitting  by  his  side  on  a 
bench  that  the  cook  had  placed  for  her.  Slipping 
one  arm  under  his  head,  she  now  drew  it  in  against 
her  bosom  and  drooped,  drooped  in  pity  and 
contrition  till  her  flying  hair  completely  hid  his 
face.  With  the  tact  of  your  natural  gentleman 
Miles  turned  his  back  and  frowned  at  the  cookees, 
who  were  not  so  chary. 

"If  thim  divils  don't  cut  up  too  ugly,"  he 
thought,  "it's  all  going  to  work  out  fine.  One 
thing's  sure,  'tisn't  them  to  stay  freezing  out 
there  while  the  others  are  feasting." 

Nor  did  they.  One  by  one  they  went  in  to 
join  the  feasters,  and,  though  after  feeding  full 
on  the  looted  stores  they  came  back  later  and 
exploded  a  second  storm  of  threats  outside  the 
door,  the  frost  was  not  to  be  denied.  Two  hours 
later  the  last  of  them  had  turned  in  to  sleep  off 
his  gorge. 

251 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Long  before  that.  Miles  had  sent  the  cookees 
to  their  bunks  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 
To  mitigate  the  cold  from  the  broken  windows, 
he  was  keeping  both  of  his  stoves  red-hot,  and 
between  fires  he  conducted  a  patrol  of  the  bar- 
ricades. Satisfied  at  last  that  the  trouble  was 
over  for  that  night  at  least,  he  made  down  a 
couch  for  Gabrielle  on  two  benches  close  to  the 
stove. 

"Now,  missy" — he  laid  a  kind  hand  on  her 
shoulder — "I'll  look  afther  him  while  you  take 
a  bit  av  a  rest." 

Instead  of  answering  she  uttered  a  little  cry: 
"Oh,  his  eyes  are  opening!" 

Shortly  afterward  the  first  faint  quiverings  of 
his  eyelids  strengthened,  and  evolved  presently 
into  a  puzzled  stare  into  Gabrielle's  face.  Then, 
as  it  passed  on  to  Miles,  memory  returned.  He 
replied  to  the  good  fellow's  inquiry  as  to  how  he 
was  feeling,  with  the  faintest  of  grins.  His 
mouth  opened,  too,  as  though  for  speech.  But 
neither  his  sore  sides  nor  exhausted  powers  per- 
mitted. He  smiled  again,  this  time  up  in  Ga- 
brielle's face. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  T  ^  7HAT  next?" 

V  V  The  question  presented  itself  to  Miles 
when  at  dawn  he  roused  from  a  short  spell  of 
sleep  on  a  bench  by  the  stove. 

It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  it  must  also  have 
been  present  in  Gabrielle's  mind;  but,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  it  was  not.  With  that  wonderful 
feminine  capacity  for  complete  absorption  in 
present  duty  she  first  made  her  own  toilet,  then 
heated  water  and  began  to  do  the  same  for  the 
sleeping  man.  So  absorbed,  indeed,  was  she  in 
her  task  that  she  failed  to  see  Miles's  preparation 
to  answer  the  question,  when  he  began  to  clean 
and  load  his  guns. 

Neither  did  she  hear  him  mutter,  while  he  was 
preparing  breakfast  from  the  remains  of  last 
night's  meal:  "Without  a  bit  to  ate,  'tis  for  thim 
to  worry.  'TIS  a  blessing,  too,  that  they  didn't 
bolt  all  this  before  they  raided  the  sthores. 
We'll  not  be  stharving  ourselves  in  the  nixt 
three  days." 

Outside,  the  men  were  worrying.  Rising, 
empty  and  hungry  as  ever  after  last  night's 
gorge,  their  melancholy  glances  traveled  over  a 

253 


CROSS    TRAILS 

camp  which  was  stripped  of  the  last  ounce  of 
food.  As  the  morning  wore  along  their  hungry 
glances  traveled  more  often  across  to  the  cook- 
house, which  returned  a  blank  and  unsympathet- 
ic stare  from  its  boarded  windows.  In  the  coun- 
sels that  were  presently  inaugurated  around  the 
bunk-house  stoves,  hindsight,  which  is  proverbi- 
ally keener  than  foresight,  began  to  make  itself 
felt. 

"The  Boss  was  right!" 

"A  half-loaf  is  better  than  none!" 

"You  bet  it  is!" 

These  and  similar  assertions  gained  more  and 
more  support,  until  finally  a  decided  line  of 
cleavage  appeared  between  the  Bartholomew 
gang  and  those  whose  penitence  grew  with  their 
hunger.  As,  moreover,  your  general  public  loves 
a  vicarious  sacrifice,  Bartholomew  and  his 
fellows  were  tarred  with  a  blacker  odium  in 
proportion  as  Ferrier's  wisdom  gained  more 
light.  Nor  was  their  status  improved  when  the 
news  was  spread  around,  by  the  one  or  two 
stragglers  who  had  seen  it,  of  the  attack  on 
Gabrielle.  In  fact,  progressing,  as  aforesaid,  in 
exact  ratio  with  the  general  hunger,  their  un- 
popularity grew  so  pronounced  that  they  pres- 
ently found  it  good  policy  to  sequester  themselves 
in  a  bunk-house  with  their  wounded  leader. 

"For  it's  them  that  should  be  getting  the  heel." 

"  They  will,  too,  before  the  finish." 

Coupled  with  a  widening  in  the  scope  of  the 

254 


CROSS   TRAILS 

public  prejudice,  observations  such  as  these 
caused  Teetzel  and  other  ringleaders  to  follow 
suit  and  go  for  a  walk  in  the  forest.  Whereby 
they  came  to  be  first  witnesses  to  the  answer 
which  the  Fates  had  prepared  for  the  cook's 
question. 

It  was  heralded  by  a  faint  tinkling  far  off  in 
the  forest,  which  grew  in  volume  until  the  deeper 
tones  of  sleigh-bells  could  be  heard  spacing  the 
clashing  syncopations  of  the  ponies'  "strings.'* 
Before  they  glimpsed  the  half-dozen  sleds  that 
came  wriggling  like  a  black  worm  through  the 
trees  Teetzel  declared  the  case: 

"It's  Nelson  and  Dominique!  They  must  ha* 
met  at  Forty-five  Mile." 

During  the  long  minute  they  stood  watching 
the  teams  approach  their  rude  faces  exhibited 
both  apprehension  and  relief.  One  man  put  the 
former  into  words;  "Some  one's  going  to  get 
hurt  when  Nelson  hears  about  last  night." 

"Well,  we  acted  like  damn'  fools!"  Teetzel's 
answer  showed  a  complete  return  to  his  usual 
steady  sanity.    "We've  got  it  coming  to  us." 

A  great  logging-sled  stood  in  the  foreground 
just  where  it  had  been  abandoned  with  its  load 
on  the  day  of  the  strike.  As  the  "tote"  teams 
turned  out  to  go  by  they  appeared  ridiculously 
small  by  comparison.  But  as  they  drew  closer 
the  appearance  of  sleds,  teams,  and  men  testi- 
fied to  the  pains  and  strains  of  the  trip.  The 
rollers,   bunkers,    and    draw-bars  were  jammed 

255 


CRO^S    TRAILS 

with  caked  snow.  A  heavy  fur  of  frost  covered 
the  loads.  Incessant  friction  had  worn  every 
scrap  of  paint  off  the  runners.  Sticking  up 
through  rusty  hides,  the  bones  of  the  horses  tes- 
tified to  the  bitter  travail,  ineffable  weariness 
of  the  long,  hard  trail,  and  the  men,  too,  were 
marked.  Black  frost  scabs  pitted  the  faces  of  the 
teamsters  Dominique  had  hired  in  the  Portage. 

The  scars,  ragged  hides,  paintless  sleds  sent 
out  a  mute  reproach  which  all  of  the  strikers  felt 
and  which  Teetzel  voiced.  "They've  sure  had 
one  time  of  it.  While  we  were  loafing  and  grum- 
bling those  fellows  were  just  killing  themselves 
to  get  through  with  the  grub.  I  owe  myself  one 
good  swift  kick." 

"Hello,  boys!"  Nelson  hailed  them  just  then 
from  the  leading  sled,  which  he  was  driving, 
while  the  regular  teamster  walked  behind  to 
Varm  his  feet.  Lumberman  style,  he  drove 
standing  on  top  of  the  load,  and,  immense  al- 
ways, he  loomed  in  his  furs  like  some  huge  griz- 
zly against  the  pale  sky.  Oppressed  as  they  were 
by  a  sense  of  guilt,  the  men  hesitated  when  he 
added  a  question:  "Everything  all  right  at  the 
camp?" 

"No,  'tain't,"  Teetzel  came  out  with  frank 
confession.  "We've  been  making  sixteen  kinds 
of  fools  of  ourselves."  While  he  was  telling  of 
the  troubles  the  eyes  behind  the  giant's  scarf 
shrank  to  points  of  steel.  But,  though  his  great 
bulk   seemed   to   heave   and   swell,   he   listened 

256 


CROSS    TRAILS 

quietly  to  the  end.  "  We  didn't  know  what  Bar- 
tholomew was  up  to,  an'  we're  damn'  sorry  for 
ourselves." 

"Ferrier  much  hurt?"  Nelson  asked  it  after 
a  pause. 

"Kain't  tell."  Teetzel  shook  a  repentant 
head.  "After  he  was  drug  into  the  cook-house 
Miles  nailed  up  the  door  and  windows.  We 
hain't  seen  hair  nor  hide  of  one  of  'em  sence." 

"Didn't  kill  Bartholomew,  I  reckon?" 

"Nope.     Shot  through  one  arm." 

"Devil's  luck!"  He  searched  the  downcast 
faces  with  stern  eyes.  "  I  suppose  you're  waiting 
to  be  fired?" 

"We've  earned  it,"  three  of  them  answered 
in  chorus.  Teetzel  continued  alone:  "But  the 
work  isn't  nearly  finished.  It  'u'd  take  time  to 
get  in  new  crews." 

"Want  another  chance?" 

"You  bet!  Give  us  a  bite  to  eat,  an'  we'll  go 
right  to  it." 

"And  the  other  fellows?    Are  they  with  you?" 

Teetzel  looked  up  with  a  shamefaced  grin. 
"They're  that  far  beyond  us  we  thought  it  wise 
to  come  out  here  in  the  bush.  Looked  like 
they'd  lynch  us  for  a  while." 

"Bartholomew  and  his  gang?" 

"All  in  their  hut.  We'll  stand  with  you."  It 
came  from  the  others  in  chorus.  "Sure  we  will 
— give  'em  the  heel,  if  you  say  it." 

Nelson  shook  his  head.    "  There's  a  better  way. 

257 


CROSS    TRAILS 

They'll  be  just  plain  fired  without  a  cent  for  their 
work  and  have  to  walk  out.  As  for  you  chaps, 
you  don't  deserve  any  better,  but,  as  you  say,  the 
work's  got  to  be  done.  And  I'm  willing  to  go  a 
bit  further:  if  you  pitch  in,  finish  the  cut,  and 
get  it  down  to  the  dump  before  the  spring  thaws 
we  won't  dock  you  a  cent  for  the  lay-off.  That 
suit  you?" 

Suit  them?  Their  broad  grins  gave  answer. 
Trudging  on  ahead,  they  gained  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  on  the  teams  going  into  camp,  and  had  told 
the  cook  and  spread  the  news  over  the  camp  be- 
fore Nelson  arrived. 

"How's  Ferrier?"  he  called  to  Miles,  who  had 
just  torn  the  table  away  from  his  door. 

"Sick  an'  sore,  but  doing  foine." 

"Good!    I'll  be  over  there  in  a  minute." 

Reining  in,  he  leaped  from  the  load  and  walked 
without  pause  across  to  the  bunk-houses,  the 
doors  of  which  were  crowded  with  men.  To 
each  knot  he  spoke  a  few  words  whose  tenor  was 
explained  by  the  ensuing  event.  Falling  in  be- 
hind him,  they  followed  to  Bartholomew's  hut 
and  arranged  themselves  in  a  double  line  at  each 
side  of  the  doorway. 

"Give  more  room."  Nelson  surveyed  the  line, 
and  after  they  had  edged  out  till  each  man  had 
free  play  for  strap  or  waist-belt,  he  smiled  grim- 
ly and  went  inside. 

Legarde,  Bartholomew,  Big  Ole,  and  Hans, 
Svenson,  the  fool,  all  were  there.    Rising  as  he 

15% 


CROSS   TRAILS 

entered,  they  stood  surly  and  savage,  brute 
beasts  at  bay,  waiting  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 
Streaming  in  through  the  doorway,  a  band  of 
sunlight  struck  a  glint  of  steel  behind  the  French- 
Canadian's  hand. 

"Drop  that  knife,  Legarde;  you  won't  need  it. 
Drop  it,  I  say,  before  I  take  you  and  crack  your 
back!" 

Huge,  formidable  as  he  was,  they  would  still 
have  fought  had  he  been  alone,  trusting  to  drag 
him  down  by  sheer  weight  of  numbers.  But 
through  the  open  doorway  they  could  see  the 
men,  catch  the  whistle  of  belts  and  straps  swung 
in  practice. 

"Now,  getr 

"Say,  doan't  we  gat  no  food  or  pay?" 

It  was  Svenson,  the  fool.  At  the  sight  of  his 
lugubrious  visage  the  hard  line  of  Nelson's  mouth 
loosened.  "Since  you've  asked  it,  Mr.  Svenson, 
you  don't.  Your  pay  is  docked  for  the  lay-off, 
and  if  you  must  eat — you'll  find  grub  at  Fifteen 
Mile.  But  be  careful.  Dominique  will  be  after 
you  to-morrow,  and  it  will  pay  you  both  to  be- 
have and  keep  well  ahead  of  him.  If  he  finds 
anything  wrong  at  the  houses,  or  you're  at  the 
Portage  when  he  arrives,  you'll  be  turned  over 
to  the  sheriff.    Now  getl'^ 

He  moved  toward  them.  But  he  was  not  called 
upon  to  use  force.  Had  there  been  any  other  way 
out,  Bartholomew's  red,  rat  eyes  would  surely 
have  discovered  it.    Cunning  to  the  end,  he  had 

259 


CROSS    TRAILS 

pulled  on  his  cap  and  mittens  while  Nelson  was 
talking.  Grasping  his  wounded  arm  with  the 
other  hand,  he  shot  out  through  the  door  and 
down  the  line.  Gathering  a  full  share  of  welts, 
he  yet  missed  the  unmerciful  flagellation  that 
descended  upon  the  others,  who  tripped  and 
piled  on  top  of  Svenson.  Keeping  straight  on 
down  the  "tote"  trail,  he  likewise  escaped  the 
pursuit  that  dogged  them  a  full  mile,  marking 
every  step  with  a  bruise. 

While  he  looked  on  at  the  rout  Nelson's  iron 
severity  melted  in  a  grin.  "It's  sure  a  fickle 
thing,  public  opinion."  He  commented  upon  the 
whistle  and  crack  of  belts  out  among  the  trees. 
"Who'd  think  that  it  would  have  been  hard  yes- 
terday to  pick  the  sheep  from  the  goats  .5^" 

Still  laughing,  he  was  walking  over  to  the 
cook-house  when  Gabrielle  came  running  out  to 
meet  him.  Above  the  blue  shadows  under  her 
eyes  danced  certain  lights  that  were  more  elo- 
quently revealing  than  hours  of  explanation. 
"How  is — your  husband.'*" 

The  squeeze  she  gave  his  hand  told  that  he  had 
made  no  mistake.  "Sore  and  stiff,  and  weak, 
and — obstinate."  Her  smile  transformed  the 
mulish  adverb  into  a  soft  caress. 

"They  won't  let  me  get  up,"  Ferrier  com- 
plained, in  a  husky  whisper  a  moment  later. 

"With  three  broken  ribs  and  the  life  trampled 
out  of  your  poor  body.''  I  should  think  not!'* 
Even   more   eloquent   than   the   happy   lights, 

260 


CROSS    TRAILS 

more  revealing  than  her  tender  care,  was  the 
loving  tyranny  of  her  manner  and  voice,  the 
surest  indication  of  a  woman's  love. 

Satisfied,  Nelson  went  out  to  start  the  unload- 
ing and  take  other  measures  to  restore  the  nor- 
mal. "For,"  he  said,  "to-morrow  we'll  all  be 
back  at  work.'* 

At  dusk  it  was  all  done.  The  lanterns,  flashing 
around  the  stables,  lit  up  a  rude  content  on  pass- 
ing faces.  Snatches  of  song,  cheerful  whistlings 
broke  on  the  night  as  the  teamsters  went  about 
their  work  feeding  and  currying  the  teams;  no 
easy  task,  for  after  their  long  rest  the  animals 
were  ticklish  as  young  girls.  The  thunder  of 
their  poundings  carried  into  the  cook-house  a 
welcome  sound  in  Ferrier's  ears. 

He  had  refused  to  be  moved  back  to  the  office 
till  the  men  had  eaten  their  meal.  Lying  in  the 
cook's  bunk,  he  watched  with  huge  satisfaction 
that  worthy  and  his  helpers  juggle  caldrons  of 
soup  and  erect  pyramids  of  beef  and  hot  biscuit 
in  preparation  for  the  onslaught.  With  all  the 
appetizing  odors  that  floated  out  over  the  camp, 
it  was  hardly  necessary  to  ring  the  cow-bell.  One 
hundred  pairs  of  eyes  spied  Tom,  the  cookee,  the 
instant  he  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Streaming 
in  from  all  sides,  the  men  filled  the  tables  before 
the  bell  had  ceased.  In  place  of  the  sullen, 
scowling  defiance  all  exhibited  a  sheepish  humil- 
ity that  would  have  admirably  fitted  a  band  of 

261 


CROSS    TRAILS 

school-boys  caught  playing  truant.  Rude  chil- 
ren  of  the  forest,  their  simple  psychologies  were 
not  for  matter  of  that  one  bit  more  complex. 

During  the  afternoon  Miles  had  taken  it  upon 
himself  to  let  out  a  piece  of  news  that  had  spread 
like  wildfire  over  the  camp:  "She's  the  Boss's 
wife.  You  see,  they'd  had  a  bit  of  a  scrap,  an' 
wasn't  on  speaking  terms  when  she  first  kem  in, 
but  it's  all  fixed  up  now."  And  this  was  respon- 
sible for  a  certain  shy  respect,  almost  awe,  which 
Gabrielle  sensed  in  the  glances  that  crossed  the 
room  to  her  as  she  sat  by  Ferrier's  bunk.  The 
evil  brooding,  hot  license,  that  had  caused  her 
such  keen  distress,  all  were  gone.  Quite  uncon- 
sciously, she  returned  little  smiles  to  their 
glances. 

While  the  meal  was  proceeding,  Ferrier 
watched  it  with  something  of  the  satisfaction  a 
farmer  feels  when,  the  evening  chores  all  done, 
he  lingers  at  the  door  to  listen  to  the  happy 
munching  of  the  animals  in  the  dark  stable.  "I 
never  knew  till  now  how  much  it  hurt  me  to  see 
them  half  starving,"  he  said,  when,  comfortable 
and  contented,  the  men  filed  out.  "And  to- 
morrow the  woods  will  wake  up,  sing  again  with 
the  ring  of  the  saws  and  axes.  It  will  all  be  in 
full  swing,  and — " 

Since  she  drew  his  head  in  against  her  shoulder 
last  night  no  word  of  explanation  had  passed  be- 
itween  them.  Nor  was  it  necessary.  Words 
hamper  feeling.     Now,  just  as  plainly  as  if  he 

262 


CROSS    TRAILS 

had  said  it,  her  mind  filled  in  the  pause:  *'And 
here  is  the  woman  to  stand  behind  me."  And 
just  as  clearly  did  he  catch  the  significance  of  her 
answering  smile. 

Its  soft  reassurance  flashed  again  into  motherly 
tyranny  when  he  reasserted  his  intention  of  get- 
ting up.    "No,  you  won't!" 

"You  bet  you  won't!"  Nelson  backed  her  up. 

Nor  did  he.  Wrapped  in  blankets,  he  was 
picked  up  by  the  giant  and  carried,  protesting, 
across  to  the  oflSce.  Entering,  Nelson  was  about 
to  set  his  burden  down  on  the  bunk  Ferrier  had 
occupied  before,  when  Gabrielle — who  had  run 
on  before — came  to  her  bedroom  door.  "Bring 
him  in  here.    It  is  much  more  comfortable." 

Since  he  had  built  the  partition  with  his  own 
hands  the  foreman  had  never  set  foot  inside  the 
doorway.  During  the  long  evenings  he  had 
taken  pleasure  in  making  furniture  for  her — 
a  wash-stand,  dresser,  arm-chair — out  of  boxes, 
poles,  a  tub,  and  the  lamp  she  held  up  revealed 
how  her  woman's  wit  had  transformed  them  with 
drapes  of  white  cotton,  blanketing,  skins,  into 
comfortable  and  dainty  things.  Upon  the  dress- 
er her  silver-backed  brush  and  comb  and  other 
appointments  caught  the  golden  glint  of  the  lamp. 
Accentuating  the  feminine  atmosphere,  her  spare 
clothing  depended  from  pegs  above  her  slippers 
and  shoes.  And  as,  after  lowering  Ferrier  upon 
the  bed,  Nelson  went  out  he  took  it  all  in  with 
one  shy,  embarrassed  glance. 


CROSS    TRAILS 

Walking  back  to  the  fireplace,  he  stood  look- 
ing down  from  his  great  height  into  the  blaze, 
which  warmed  his  kind  face  with  its  ruby  light. 
During  the  minute  that  he  so  stood,  deep  shad- 
ows of  thought,  sorrowful  and  pleasant,  grave 
and  gay,  came  and  went  in  his  eyes,  settling  at 
last  in  a  great,  yearning  hunger  of  loneliness. 

A  noise  behind  him  aroused  him,  and,  turning, 
he  saw  Gabrielle  standing  in  her  doorway.  The 
leaping  firelight  showed  him  her  happy  face  as 
in  a  little  run  she  came  to  him  across  the  floor. 
Between  them  one  of  those  rare  spiritual  rela- 
tionships had  been  forming  which  permit  com- 
munications without  words.  As,  rising  on  tip- 
toe, she  placed  both  hands  on  his  shoulders  and 
offered  her  face  he  sensed  her  deep  gratitude 
and  friendship.    Bending,  he  kissed  her  cheek. 

The  next  second  she  was  back  in  the  doorway. 
For  another  space  she  stood  smiling  happily, 
then  the  door  closed. 

Moving  over  to  his  bunk,  he  picked  up  his  bed- 
ding and  went  out,  softly  closing  the  outer  door. 


THE    END 


YB  40127 


